


Resilience

by CarvcrEdlund



Series: Lucifer Meets World [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, But he also kind of has a right to be, But he is, But he maybe takes it too far, But not forever, But when is he not?, Cass just wants to help his big bro, Crowley is also a drama queen, Crowley's a dick, Deal With It, Dean thinks Satan is way too cute for his own good, Dubious Morality, Fluff and Angst, Guardian Angel, Human Lucifer, Like spanish-soap-opera levels of drama, Lucifer has a Forked Tongue, Lucifer has really bad luck with Brits, Lucifer is a drama queen, Lucifer redemption story, Lucifer vs the Universe, Lucifer!whump, Lucifer's expressions are Dean's turn-on, M/M, Mother Hen Castiel, PTSD, Past Rape, Rated M for Man Pain, Rowena is just a Queen, Sam is a dick, Satan shouldn't be adorable, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, The Cage™, The Struggle™, Wholesome and happy relationship, dadifer, psuedo-slavery, references to rape, so much drama, the human!Lucifer Season 12 AU that nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:13:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 116,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10080944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarvcrEdlund/pseuds/CarvcrEdlund
Summary: Beaten, Raped, and out of Luck, Lucifer finally turns to the Winchesters for help.**Sequel to"Comeuppance"and"Penance", and won't really make sense without reading them first.**I’m not great at updating consistently but I swear I’m not dead and I do have people kicking my ass to make sure I finish writing this. Jointhis discord serverif you want to be notified when I update~





	1. Wanted Dead or Alive

**Author's Note:**

> **PTSD-Warning.** A character in this fic has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and experiences multiple flashbacks.
> 
>  **Rape Warning.** There are no graphic rape scenes in this fic but there are many mentions to previous rape & abuse, and the victim is confronted by his abuser later on.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride  
> I'm wanted (wanted) dead or alive  
> Wanted (wanted) dead or alive  
> \- Bon Jovi

All things considered, Dean Winchester is having a good morning. He woke up to a text from Cass, updating him on the hunt for Lucifer. When they found out that Rowena made him human about two months ago, Crowley slashed Castiel’s stolen car’s tires and ditched the angel, declaring this an every-being-for-himself race. Dean was mostly glad to hear about the development, as it meant that his best friend was in a lot less danger than he was previously. How much trouble can the devil be when he’s only human?

Apparently enough to keep him from being caught for a solid two months, even with an agent of Heaven, most of Hell, and a Witch on his ass. Dean can’t help but be the tiniest bit impressed. If he’s not just dead somewhere, Lucifer must have adapted to his humanity fairly quickly.

The update was interesting, mostly because it didn’t say much. Apparently Castiel found Lucifer’s latest hideout. Some teens found it that way late last night and called the local police. Castiel thought the report was promising, and it was in the right direction for where he expected Lucifer to be heading, so he followed up on it. There are signs of a struggle, sulphur, semi-fresh blood that is neither demonic nor quite human, and partial warding on the walls; all of which would imply that Lucifer was caught off guard and captured or killed. But there’s no way that Crowley wouldn’t be bragging his ass off to anyone who would listen if that was the case. At the very least, he’d have texted them a selfie with his success. Maybe another demon is responsible? But who?

That’s not all, though. There’s fresher blood in the shack’s shower, from the same source as the rest of it. And there are depressions in the ground outside indicating a car was parked there, but there is no longer such a car present. So he escaped, possibly?

Dean is gulping down his coffee when he gets another text, this one being a picture of some symbol drawn in blood on a table. It’s smudged by another splotch of blood, presumably from when it was activated, but the original symbol is still clear enough underneath. Dean has never seen it before, and apparently Cass hasn’t either. Cass’ best guess is that it’s a variation of the angel banishing sigil, and given the context of the situation, it banishes demons. Dean jots it down, keeping that in mind. It’d come in handy to be able to get rid of demons without having to recite an exorcism.

Not to mention the smart ones, which lock themselves inside their vessels.

He says as much to Castiel, who mentions knowing that Crowley has a binding rune on his person. They end up calling each other to discuss the matter further. After an hour or two of discussion and speculation, they decide to assume that Lucifer is most likely wounded, and still on the loose. And Crowley’s probably pissed. Dean considers texting the demon to say they found the remains of his latest battle, and asking how he fucked it up so bad. Really, dude, Lucifer’s human, how much trouble can he feasibly be?

If Dean was a betting man (which he is), He’d put money on Crowley getting so caught up in gloating over his victory that he wasn’t paying enough attention to Lucifer to notice that his prisoner had far from given up on escape. There’s a reason they say you shouldn’t count your chickens before they hatch.

The knock on the bunker door comes as a surprise. Still on the phone with Castiel, Dean cautiously makes his way to the heavily warded door, wondering who it might be. It’s probably just wishful thinking, but… maybe Mom decided to come back.

He swings the door open, a warm greeting on his lips, which dies instantly as he sees the blonde man on his doorstep. He looks like he’s been through hell and back, there’s a slightly wild look in his eyes, and his posture tells Dean that he’d rather be pretty much anywhere else, but his face is still unmistakeable.

“Uh… Cass, I think I found Lucifer.”

The reaction is immediate. Cass tells him not to engage, to keep his distance. He says he’s heading to the bunker right now. Don’t move, Dean. Keep Lucifer out of the bunker. Proceed with caution. As if Dean doesn’t already know all those things.

He can’t help but wonder what the devil’s doing here, of all places, though. And Lucifer hasn’t moved since he opened the door, obviously waiting for Dean to get over his initial shock. That’s not the kind of thing someone hostile does. Knowing Lucifer, if he wanted to, he easily could have silenced and killed Dean in the few seconds it took the hunter to recover from surprise. So he wants to talk, then?

Dean ignores Cass’s warnings, putting his hand on his gun as his gaze hardens on the man in front of him. “Gotcha, Cass. I’ll call you back later, okay buddy?” And paying no mind to the angel’s protests, he hangs up the phone, pocketing it. Lucifer shifts on his feet slightly, looking pained as he does so. Dean sizes him up again. “… Why the hell are you here?”

“Funny you should ask. Hell’s exactly why I’m here.” It seems that even becoming human can’t douse Lucifer’s perpetually flippant attitude.

“If you’re expecting us to save your ass, you better think again. You made your own bed, Lucifer. Lie in it.” Dean makes to shut the door on him, but Lucifer, desperate, blocks it from closing with his arm, hissing in pain as the heavy door nearly snaps his bones.

“Wait!” There’s a desperation in his tone that Dean’s never heard before from the devil, and it makes him pause. The pause lasts just long enough for Lucifer to push the door back open, but notably, the devil doesn’t come inside, seeming to respect Dean’s right to allow or deny him entry. “Please, hear me out before you shut the door on me. You’re my last option. If you won’t help me, I’m as good as dead.”

Dean considers just ignoring him and locking him out anyways, but there’s a note of hopelessness in his tone, a sense of rushed, blunt honesty to the statement, and Dean knows he can’t just ignore the desperate cry for help and still call himself a good man (not that he’s a good man anyways, but he tries). Dean always did have a heart that was too big for his own good. He’ll at least listen to what Lucifer has to say, and then he’ll shove him right back outside. It’s no less than Lucifer deserves.

The hunter releases a frustrated sigh, ticked off with himself for doing something he’s almost entirely sure he’s going to regret, and he pulls the door open a little wider. “Fine. No funny business, you understand? Come inside for a minute, I don’t want to keep the door open for too long.”

Lucifer gives a quick nod of understanding, stepping just inside and out of the door’s path. “Good idea. And… thank you.” Dean can tell that the two simple words pain him to say, but the fact that he says them at all shows just how much his run as a human has affected him. The Lucifer who fought Amara with them would have considered refraining from attempting to murder them both thanks enough for their help, _God forbid_ he stoop so low as to say the words out loud.

Dean keeps his hand firmly on his ivory-handled .45 Colt M1911A1 as Lucifer enters, ready at any second to draw it and shoot the bastard. He glares at the blonde, making how he feels about this situation very clear. “Alright, you’ve got five minutes. Talk, and make it quick.”

The devil wastes no time once he’s invited to speak, the words tumbling past his lips as if they’re all rushing to be said, falling over themselves to be heard. “You must’ve heard how I developed my current condition by now, so I won’t bore you with that. I’ve come in the hopes of receiving one of two things from you and your brother, Winchester. Crowley intercepted me at my last safe-house, and I barely escaped with my life intact. He was... Less than forgiving.” Dean gives a tiny snort at that, but his expression remains hard and unforgiving.

Lucifer takes a short, calming inhale. He’s in no place to be making demands, so he has to be as civil and respectful as possible. One catches more flies with honey than with vinegar. He can’t elicit sympathy for himself, so he’ll attempt to appeal to Dean’s sense of reason. “I would have kept running, but it would be a pointless endeavour, now. Crowley’s hound caught my scent, he’ll be able to find me just about anywhere I go, with the exception of this bunker. I was hoping…” No, don’t look weak, be professional. “I’d like to offer you a deal. Or rather, give you the terms of my surrender.” Dean checks his watch, and Lucifer continues quickly. “I know things. All kinds of things. I’ve been around since the dawn of time, and I’m willing to share all of that knowledge with the two of you in exchange for asylum here. Not only that, but should I regain my grace, I will owe you a life debt, and you’ll have the devil in your back pocket for the rest of your existence. If that’s not good enough, I’ll extend it to your entire bloodline. I value my life far above my dislike for humanity.” Dean seems to consider that for a second, so Lucifer takes his chance to push the deal from appealing to ‘can’t refuse’. “The final decision on whether I get my grace back or not if and when it’s found is yours, of course. I won’t touch it without your say-so. I will show you how to bind me in such a way that I cannot absorb it until the rune is removed, and you’re free to have Castiel double-check that it works. I understand that I’m not exactly trustworthy, and I’ll comply with any scrutiny you wish to put me under. If you’d rather just keep me locked away somewhere, I’ll go willingly, so long as you are my captor, rather than Crowley or Rowena.”

Dean purses his lips for a second, but Lucifer can tell he’s really considering it. The hunter interrupts him with a tone smug enough to make Lucifer bristle in annoyance. “Not a fan of those two, huh? Makes me wonder what Crowley did to shake you up so much.” He looks over the placement of Lucifer’s various cuts and bruises. “Alright, and what’s the other thing you want to ask of us?”

Lucifer nods, continuing. “Should those terms be unsatisfactory to you, your brother, and Castiel, I’d like to ask instead, that Sam engages in one-to-one unarmed combat with me, to the death. If you won't offer me sanctuary, I’m as good as dead anyways, and I’d rather go down in a fair fight against a worthy opponent than to my own blade or Crowley’s. Consider it my dying wish. Would you deny even _me_ that?” He waits expectantly, watching as Dean’s expression goes from smug, to confused, to understanding, to sympathetic, and back to the former cool indifference. Dean must recognise his drive to die a warrior’s death, if he must die at all.

“… Why Sam?” He cocks a brow at the devil, the question mostly serving as a stalling technique while he decides on the best course of action.

It’s a fair question. Dean is just as, if not an even more adept fighter than his brother. “I respect Sam. He’s proven that he is at least mentally my equal, and I know that physically, we are now nearly matched. And if anyone deserves the right to take my life, it’s him.”

There’s silence for a moment as the two men meet each other’s eyes, a wordless battle of wills taking place in the air between them. Neither really wins it, both seeming to concede as they break eye contact.

“… Damn right, he does.” Dean finally admits, with a quiet nod of acquiescence.

Lucifer neither agrees nor disagrees. It’s not his first choice, but then his first choice went out the window over two months ago. It’s not the most undesirable option, in any case. “Don’t tell him I said that, though. That boy needs an inflated ego like he needs a hole in the head. Father knows it didn’t do me any good.” There’s maybe the slightest touch of bitterness in his tone. A glance at the wall clock says it’s been well over the allotted five minutes. He cocks a brow at his ‘host’. “So what’ll it be, Winchester? Mercy or death? My fate is in your hands.”

Dean doesn’t answer, not wanting to rush into a potentially world-changing decision like this. Definitely not on his own. And not in his PJs at eight-ish in the morning.

The two of them are still at the top of the bunker’s steps, hovering by the door, Lucifer almost leaning against the cold metal in what Dean can only assume is well-concealed exhaustion. Considering how fresh the blood Castiel saw was, he must have been driving and/or walking continuously since he was attacked. And who knows how long he was awake and on the move before that? And yet here he was, fighting his body’s limits just to maintain his reputation as a being untouched by human limitations.

When he doesn’t get an answer right away, impatience gets the best of Lucifer, and he speaks up again. “If it’s a moral dilemma, I promise you, no one is going to think less of you for condemning the Devil to death. It’s no less than I’ve earned from you and yours. In your place, I’d make that decision in a heartbeat.”

Now, Dean’s not exactly the greatest negotiator, but that doesn’t exactly motivate him to spare Lucifer’s life at all. Isn’t Satan supposed to be the most conniving, deceiving, seductive, charismatic being in all creation? Maybe he’d actually rather die, and just doesn't want to do it himself, seeing that as an action beneath him.

It’s weird to think that perhaps the devil is trying to commit suicide indirectly, but those thoughts are cut off as Lucifer continues, wincing slightly as he rubs the arm he stopped the door with.

“Of course, I assume you heroic-types like to think you’re better than me, so I understand your reluctance. Perhaps my death _would_ satisfy you, but then I wouldn’t be able to make amends for how I’ve wronged you, would I? It comes down to what you find more important, really. Your quick and immediate revenge on me, or the potential advancements in hunting and general benefits to the world my vast banks of knowledge can bring, not to mention the possibility of having myself at full power at your disposal, to help clean up this broken world mess by mess. Should you so choose.”

Ah, and there comes the infallible reasoning. Dean frowns, knowing that Lucifer’s manipulating him, but also unable to find fault with his logic. His word really is binding. If Lucifer’s really offering this deal, claiming that he’ll owe a life-debt… he has to honour it. There’s no way out of it for him. His existence is _really_ worth that much to him, it appears.

Dean shakes his head, taking a step back. “I’m not deciding anything until I discuss this with Sam and Cass. You… just…” He looks around, before remembering his … cough-fuzzy-leopard-print-cough-cough … ‘handcuffs’ (and he uses the term loosely) that are still in his sweatpants pocket from his… sexcapades the night before last. They aren’t his, and the only reason he has them is because in his drunken and sexed-out state, he was unable to get the one cuff off his left wrist, and they lost the key some point between un-cuffing him from the bedpost and well, you know. He had to pick it free the morning after, before Sam saw it on him.

Well, as Dad always said, you use what you’ve got. Dean pulls the cuffs out, earning yet another raised eyebrow from Lucifer. “This is taking a turn I didn’t see coming, but can’t say I completely object to.” Comes the immediate, practically reflexive snarky comment.

“Shut your pie hole.” Dean retorts gruffly, grabbing the blonde’s injured arm in retaliation and feeling a sense of vindication when he receives a hiss of discomfort in response. “I’m going to go get Sam, and you’re going to stay put.” He says as he clicks one ridiculously fluffy cuff around Lucifer’s wrist and the other around the railing.

The devil gives the cuff an experimental tug, and then shrugs. “I’m not going anywhere. Go call your boyfriend and talk to your brother. I await your decision.” As Dean walks away from him, Lucifer blows a kiss with his free hand. Cocky bag of dicks. Dean tosses him the finger for good measure.

And with that parting gesture, Dean quickly makes his way down the stairs and out of sight.

The charade wasn’t as easy to keep up as Lucifer made it seem. The injured human was on the brink of exhaustion, and aching all over. He was running practically purely on willpower. When Dean’s out of sight, He sinks to the ground, the arm attached to the railing just above his head making it a bit awkward to situate himself.

He (correctly) assumes that Dean plans to call Castiel back first, and then wake his brother up and explain the situation. This could take awhile, so he might as well make himself comfortable, right?

The devil isn’t sure what fate awaits him, but at least for now, he’s still alive.

Smiling to himself, he adds to the tally. Lucifer: 63, Universe: 1.

Lucifer ends up settling down curled up into the corner formed by the railing and adjacent wall. His crushed and bruising (but miraculously not broken) arm dangles from the surprisingly comfortable handcuffs (he tries not to think very hard about who used them last and for what purpose), but otherwise the position is actually fairly comfortable. And defendable, though that’s something he notices more subconsciously. He’s behind the door’s hinges, so if someone were to come inside, he’d see them before they would see him. And if someone were to come through the hallway and into the map room, Lucifer’s got the high ground, and the railing to help obstruct their view of him.

Not that any of that really matters, because after about five or six minutes, Lucifer is pretty much passed out in that corner, for all intents and purposes dead to the world. 

* * *

 

The conversation with Castiel is kind of rough. Dean isn’t able to get a word in edgewise for almost a solid five minutes after telling Cass that Lucifer is handcuffed to the staircase. The angel hardly pauses for breath amidst his never-ending reprimand of Dean’s poor decision-making.

“Come on, I can handle _one_ human.”

“I’m sure you can, but he’s no mere human, Dean.” The angel reminds him with a tired sigh. “He can’t be trusted, no matter what form he’s in.”

“I know that, I’m not an idiot, Cass.” Really, what does Castiel think he’s going to do? Sell his soul? “There’s a reason I cuffed his ass. But aren’t you just the tiniest bit curious as to why he came here?”

The phone crackles electronically as Cass huffs on the other end. “Of course I am. That doesn’t mean you should have talked to him on your own. At least tell me Sam’s there, too.”

“Um… Yeah, Sam’s here.” Dean answers, not _completely_ untruthfully.

Castiel pauses, and then responds with a tone that says just how done he is with Dean’s bullshit. “He’s not awake, is he.” The angel doesn’t wait for an answer. “Dean, you _have_ to be more careful!”

Ugh. When did Castiel become such a mom? “I _am_ careful. Careful is my middle name. Everything’s under control, I swear. Now do you want to hear what he wants, or not?” Dean would bring up the fact that he’s the only one of the three of them who’s never said yes to being possessed by Satan, but he’s not _that_ much of an asshole.

How Castiel manages to sound so judgemental over the phone, Dean will never understand. “Your middle name is Henry, Dean.” And how does he even know that? Dean’s pretty sure he’s never told the angel… Maybe Sam’s the culprit. Or maybe it’s just an angel thing. “… But I suppose the damage is already done. What does he want?”

“To surrender, apparently.” Dean answers quickly, and proceeds to explain Lucifer’s offer to his friend. Castiel refrains from interrupting as Dean does so, but the hunter can practically feel the skepticism in his silence.

There’s a long break in-between Dean finishing his explanation and Castiel’s reluctant response. “… It’s a very good deal, granted he actually binds himself to it.”

“No kidding.” Dean runs a hand through his hair, and then checks his watch to see how long he’s left Lucifer alone. Almost half an hour, geez. “He knows that we don’t have to help him, too. We can make pretty much any demands we want, and he doesn’t have any choice but to give us what we want or end up in Crowley’s hands again.”

“I’m not sure what else we could ask of him, though. He’s offering to sign over his life to you. Anything else we could ask would be redundant.”

“You said it, angel. This is definitely his last play. He’s out of cards.”

“When did he have cards?” Dean waits. “Oh, that’s just another human expression. I understand. Indeed. Lucifer’s been effectively cornered, it seems. And his claim about the hellhound checks out. There were scratches on the floor and table that would suggest the presence of a large, clawed animal, as well as slobber that I would also believe came from a hellhound.”

“Which means he’s fucked.” Dean concludes gruffly. “Those things are impossible to run from forever. He definitely needs a safe place to hide, and here probably really is his best bet.”

“Just because his reasons are valid, doesn’t mean that his intentions are as he says.” Castiel reminds him in that deep, serious tone of his. “Wait for me to reach you before you agree to anything, please.”

“Alright, I can wait. How far away are you?”

“No more than five hours, four if I speed.”

“Gotcha. Sam should be up before then. I’ll tell him, and assuming he doesn’t just murder Satan, we’ll wait for you to get back before we decide anything.”

“See you soon, Dean.”

“Later, Cass.”

Dean hangs up the phone, and then peeks into Sam’s room again. His little bro is still out cold, so Dean lets him be, turning back to go check on Lucifer.

The hunter’s heart skips a beat when he doesn’t immediately see Lucifer at the top of the stairs. His gun is drawn quickly, and his senses go on high alert. “Lucifer?!” Dean whisper-shouts it, not really expecting an answer. How did he get out of the handcuffs?

However, his fears are assuaged when calling the man’s name gets him to stir from his place curled up in the corner at the top of the staircase. One side of the devil’s hair is mussed up, like it was flattened against the wall for a while. Dean relaxes just a bit, and lowers his handgun.

“… You called?” The half-asleep-looking blonde peeks over the railing, taking his time getting back up. He’s rubbing his neck with his free hand, in such a way that tells Dean he had it at an awkward angle.

With a quiet snort, Dean tucks his gun into the back of his pants again. “Thought you might’ve run off somewhere. Had a nice nap?”

The look of annoyance the question gets him is enough to make him smile again. “Until you woke me, I was.” Dean gets an absurd image of Lucifer’s face on Smaug, bellowing ‘Who dares disturb my slumber?!’. He keeps the thought to himself. Lucifer eyes him somewhat warily. “I don’t see Sam with you, am I to take it that means you haven’t spoken to him yet?”

“Yeah, he’s still out. Cass won’t be back for another four or five hours, so I’ll wait for Sam to wake up on his own. He’ll probably be more agreeable that way, than if I woke him up early.”

Lucifer makes a half-assed attempt to un-flatten his hair. He cocks a brow at Dean’s answer. “So… you’d rather keep me alive, then?” He sounds genuinely surprised by that.

“You made us a pretty damn good offer, dude. That is, assuming you can follow through.” Dean admits reluctantly. “Even Cass agrees with that, and he wants nothing more than to see you locked up again after that stunt you pulled.”

“Ah. I see.” Comes the short reply as Lucifer leans back on the wall he’d been resting against and rubs his eyes. After another second of silence, Lucifer turns his full—if tired—attention on the hunter. “So you’ve made up your mind, then? If you weren’t required to wait for your brother and your angel, which fate would you choose for me?”

Dean gives the graceless archangel a critical once-over. He already knows what his answer is going to be, but Lucifer can wait a little longer to hear it. Lucifer doesn’t seem to care too much, looking for all the world like he’d rather still be asleep. “… I’d let you stay here, if it was only up to me. It’s only the three of us most days, and we can use all the help we can get.” The hunter pulls out his phone, making his way up the stairs. “Cass found your last hideout, and he’s been unable to get into your other ones. You obviously know warding and runes that not even he knows, and that stuff alone would almost be enough to make me want to keep you around.” As he reaches Lucifer, he shows the blonde the picture Castiel sent him earlier this morning. The devil stiffens up slightly at the sight, looking very uncomfortable for a brief second, and then he brushes it off. “Cass doesn’t recognise this one. Best we could figure, it banishes demons.” The hunter says open-endedly, obviously waiting for Lucifer to explain the marking.

It takes the blonde a second to get what Dean wants. “You figured right.” Lucifer holds his hand out for the phone, and Dean gives it to him. “Alright, you get one freebie before you decide what to do with me.” The blonde saves the picture, and opens it in the ‘edit’ menu so that he can trace over it to illustrate as he talks. “All banishing sigils are within circles. I’m sure you know of the angel-banishing one, and this one’s similar. The symbols within this one are from a language of my own creation. This one means ‘begone’, this one ‘hellspawn’, and this one ‘to hell’. The nine dots above that last one specify the ninth circle of Hell.” Lucifer traced the runes as he mentioned them. “It’s like… a wordless exorcism, the only differences being that it works on hellhounds too, and it doesn’t leave the vessels behind. I can teach you this language. It’s fairly simple, because I invented it particularly to work against demonkind, so everything is in terms of that. Once you know it, you can make all kinds of warding and banishing sigils to get rid of them. They must obey any order in this language written in blood.”

“You made a language for them? Why?” Dean takes his phone back when Lucifer is done with it, saving the photo with the tracing on top of it.

“I created Demons.” Lucifer starts with a shrug. “When you create something, you can assign it strengths and weaknesses. There’s pure salt, holy water, running water, and this language, among other things which I’ll tell you if you let me stay. I could have given them _no_ weaknesses, but then their power would come solely from myself, therefore weakening me.”

Dean simply nods, a crease between his brows telling the ex-archangel that he’s listening intently.

“It’s like _any_ spell works. There’s a balance to it.” Lucifer continues dispassionately. “Come now, you hunt all things weird, and you don’t know how magic works?” When Dean shakes his head, Lucifer rolls his eyes and sighs, in a very much ‘here we go’ tone. “Demons are souls that are enchanted to accept certain limitations in exchange for certain abilities. Only myself, Lilith, and a few of her highest underlings know all of their weaknesses. More demons are created through the act of a soul undergoing torture until it accepts those terms, whether or not the demon realises that’s what it’s doing. The torture isn’t even necessary, but I assume that Lilith enjoyed doing it so much that her underlings have just assumed that it is. The spell is cast on the domain of Hell. I could take any soul to Hell, ask if it wants to become a demon, and if it agreed, Hell would do the rest and it would become one. It’s that simple.”

Dean nods at the new information, lifting a brow. “Okay, but what about the Mark? When I died while having it, I became a demon without deciding anything.”

To his surprise, Lucifer rubs the back of his neck in what looks like mild embarrassment. “That was actually a failsafe I put in for myself. I knew what I was doing would probably, eventually lead to me fighting my father or Michael, so I added a clause about the Mark. Whosoever bears it, should they die by any means, will be reincarnated as a demon with power equal to what they possessed when alive. Of course, at the time, I assumed that would only ever be me.” He recounts, dropping his free hand back to his side. “It was intended to give me a second chance, and allow me to only be killed by the first blade, making me damn near undefeatable. I never did find out if it actually worked. I assume that it might have, because for you and Cain, it converted the formerly unusable power of your untainted souls into raw, demonic power. It should have done the same for my grace. Of course, no power comes without a price. I’m sure you already know the costs of wielding that which the mark gives you.” The graceless angel beaks eye contact with Dean.

Dean nods. He does. Of course he does.

The explanation makes sense, given Lucifer’s circumstances. It’s actually a really strategic move on Lucifer’s part. He turned what would be considered his greatest weakness into a hidden strength, making himself effectively invulnerable upon ‘death’. The thought is actually a little scary, and Dean finds himself suddenly _really_ glad that they stopped him from fighting Michael. No wonder Lucifer was so confident going into that fight with his brother. He’d rigged it so he would win _millennia_ ago. With God gone, Michael would have been totally unprepared for Lucifer to come back. And a world ruled by an emotionless, hate-driven demon (meaning he’d no longer need permission to possess people, holy crap) with the power level of an Archangel would be… horrifying, to say the least. Lucifer would massacre all of Heaven, his _entire_ family without so much as batting an eye. Dean knows he would, because Dean would have killed Sam if Castiel hadn’t intervened. And he would have _enjoyed_ it.

The only way to beat him would be to undo the spell, which only Lucifer knows how to do, get someone else with the mark to kill him with the first blade (but he’d be way stronger than Cain or Dean), or release Amara, who was arguably worse than Lucifer.

Before he can voice this revelation however, he’s interrupted by gunshots. Lucifer drops to the ground just before the first two go off, and Dean whips around to see Sam pointing his gun at the Devil from the hallway. “Dean, why is Satan handcuffed to our staircase?”

Both bullets missed Lucifer. He reacted quickly enough after seeing Sam to duck them. He stays below the railing, making himself a more difficult target to hit. Dean moves into Sam’s way, too. “Put the gun away, Sammy. Meet me in the kitchen, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Lucifer peers over the railing, giving the hunter a wave. “Morning, Sam!”

Dean turns to glare at him, and Lucifer ducks another shot from Sam’s gun. “Dude, _not_ helping. Shut up, and keep your damn head down.”

“I’m being friendly!” The blonde protests, but stays down anyways.

Dean ignores him, looking back at his brother. “Stop shooting, Sam! Trust me, okay? I’ll explain in the kitchen.” The elder brother turns on the man behind him. “And you,” he starts, sounding understandably pissed off, “stay put and shut your trap. Just don’t. Do. Anything.”

In true flippant Lucifer fashion, the blonde nods, putting up three fingers in the boy scout symbol. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Winchester. Scout’s honour.”

“Yeah, like you’re a scout.”

“Actually, Sir Baden-Powell is in—”

“I _don’t_ want to know. Just stop.”

“Stopping. Gotcha.”

Sam is thoroughly thrown off by the whole conversation. Sure, as a Winchester, he’s been in some really fucked-up situations before, but waking up to find his older brother chatting up Satan, who is handcuffed (and are those handcuffs… fuzzy? And leopard-printed?) to their staircase? That’s definitely up there on the ‘crazy and unexpected’ chart.

Almost purely out of curiosity, the junior Winchester puts his gun away. “Fine. But you better have a damn good reason for letting him in here, Dean.”

“Heh.” Dean exhales a little nervously. “Is curiosity a good reason?”

“Dean.” The younger Winchester sounds about as done as he looks.

“C’mon, Sammy. We know he’s human. It’s not like he’s _really_ dangerous.” The elder tries, starting to make his way down the stairs.

An affronted huff from the blonde in question catches both their attentions. “Come on, give me _some_ credit. I managed to evade capture from the forces of Heaven, Hell, a witch, and you two idi—hunters—for two months. I may be human, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still a formidable foe.” At Dean’s exasperated glance, he quickly adds; “Or ally. Go Team Free Will, right?”

Winchester senior just pinches the bridge of his nose, suddenly aware of _what_ he decided to side with.

“… Riiiight.” Sam drawls, turning towards the kitchen, now utterly perplexed.

“I promise, there’s a halfway-decent reason I didn’t kill him, Sammy.” Dean reassures his skeptical brother, not fully convinced himself.

With a shake of his long-haired head, Sam disappears into the kitchen. And with a look of warning to Lucifer, Dean follows after him.

Lucifer relaxes, satisfied that he played his cards right. Phase one; complete. Dean is _technically_ on his side, and he convinced Castiel to take their side as well. All that’s left is Sam, and he’ll be the trickiest. But if Lucifer knows Sam (and he does—perks of having _literally_ been in his noggin for a bit) the younger Winchester would have been even more suspicious of him if he’d acted any less like a prideful asshole. And the fact that Dean kept glaring at him would make sure that his brother knew he wasn’t somehow under the devil’s control.

At this point, Lucifer’s only goal is to survive long enough to get his revenge on Rowena. He can even stomach not getting his grace back, so long as he can make her pay for what she did to him. He’d like to kill Crowley too, but the bastard is _friends_ with the Winchesters, and they almost certainly wouldn’t help him with that venture.

At least, not right away. Assuming things keep going his way, it should be a fairly simple matter after getting them to like him, to casually slip in what Crowley did to him, and perhaps they’ll take his side on the matter.

Oh Winchesters, so hopeful and good of heart, always so confident they’ll come out on top that they don’t notice when they’re being played like a pair of fiddles.

* * *

 

Sam is waiting patiently by the coffee maker when Dean reaches the kitchen. Perhaps patiently isn’t the right word. The younger brother looks more like he’s doing everything within his power to hold back the imminent lecture he wants to give Dean.

And really, Dean should know better. But his younger brother is trying to give him the benefit of the doubt here, because surely Dean wouldn’t just let the devil into their bunker without _really_ thinking it through first. Dean has more common sense than that… right?

The younger doesn't say anything, just waiting for Dean to explain himself with a look on his face like he’s trying really hard not to be pissed off. And not quite succeeding.

The elder of the two takes his time thinking through what he has to say. He knows there isn’t really a _good_ way to explain what’s going on, so he’s got to be careful to word it in the least _bad_ way possible. “I swear I didn’t just let him in here for shits and giggles, tSammy. He’s here to surrender. He can be real useful to us, you know he can. And now he’s human, which means we don’t have to worry so much about keeping him in check, especially when Cass gets here.” Sam looks like he has several choice words to say, but Dean barrels on. “Look, I was just gonna throw him out, too. But the dude almost broke his arm trying to get me to hear him out. I mean, he’s desperate enough to come _here_ for help. And honestly, we can use all the help we can get, too.” Dean hardly paused to take a breath, trying to keep Sam from interrupting with all the surely _very_ convincing arguments he has for Dean’s points. “Sammy, I’m not saying we should trust him. We’d be idiots to trust him. But we can use him. He knows more things about Demons, angels, and monsters than we could ever hope to know, and he’s willing to share everything he knows with us if we let him stay here.” Sam still doesn’t look happy, but at least now he looks like he’s giving the idea some consideration. “Not only that, but he says he’ll owe us his life, if he ever gets his grace back. Like Chewbacca and Han Solo.” And finally, Dean stops, having said all he can think of to convince Sam to back off for the time being.

“Dude, did you just compare Satan to Chewbacca?”

The elder of the two rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, kinda. Look, you don’t have to decide anything now. We’ll sit down and talk it out when Cass gets here. Just… don’t kill him until then, okay?”

The taller man is silent for another few seconds, as if waiting to see if Dean intends to continue. His expression is thoughtful, brows drawn together slightly and lips pursed. When he sees that Dean’s done talking, he finally speaks. “Okay.”

“I know where you’re coming from, Sammy, I do, but I’m not asking--” Dean halts, Sam’s answer finally registering. “Wait, did you say ‘okay’?”

Sam hums his confirmation, slightly amused by his brother’s reaction.

Dean obviously wasn't anticipating this conversation to be this easy, and now he looks stumped as for what to say next.

“Well?” Sam prompts.

“Give me a minute, I didn’t think I’d get this far…” Dean replies gruffly, leaning against the counter. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll ever be okay with Satan living with us, but… you know. I’ll deal.”

“Then why are you agreeing with me?” Sometimes, his little brother makes absolutely no sense…

The taller Winchester shrugs, eyes on the coffee machine. “I trust you, Dean. If you’re convinced we should give the devil a chance, then we’ll give him a chance. But if he tries anything, Dean, don’t dare try to stop me from shooting him again.”

There’s a brief lull in the conversation as Dean tries to find the right way to respond to that, and Sam pours himself and Dean a mug of coffee each.

In the end, Sam saves Dean from having to come up with something to say. “You _did_ make sure he actually is human before you let him in, right?”

Dean pauses mid-sip of coffee, blinks, and tries to play the moment off like it didn’t happen. “Psh. Of course I did, Sammy. How careless do you think I am?” He sets his coffee down. “I’ll be right back. I’ve got to… use the little boy’s room.”

“ _Dean.”_ Sam hisses, not falling for it for a second. He is not, in fact, as gullible as his older brother seems to think he is.

Knowing he’s been caught, the elder heaves a sigh, dropping the pretences. “C’mon, Sam. It’s early, what do you want from me? It doesn’t really matter at this point, anyways. If he could, he would have done something by now.”

Sam doesn't look amused.

“I mean, those hand cuffs aren’t really anything special, Sammy. I got them from this hooker a coupl--”

Sam cuts him off right there. “Dude, I _don't_ want to know.”

Dean has the audacity to look kind of proud of himself at the disgruntled look on Sam’s face. “Point is, if he wasn’t human, we’d know by now.”

“I’m still going to check.” Sam shoots back, putting down his coffee and making for the doorway.

Dean doesn’t move to stop his brother, just huffing out a soft snort. “You just wanna cut him up.”

“And you don’t?” the younger asks, cocking an incredulous brow at his older brother as he pulls a few knives of different composition from one of the kitchen’s many drawers.

This gets him a shrug in acquiescence. “Touché.”

With knives, a syringe of dead man’s blood, holy water, holy oil, and lighter now in hand, Sam heads back out to the map room. Lucifer is standing again, leaning against the nearest wall and holding onto his his right shoulder. He straightens up when he sees Sam, with an expression on his face that went from cautiously hopeful, to confused when he saw what Sam was carrying, and then back to cautiously hopeful when he recognised what they were. He didn’t say anything as Sam made his way up to him, evidently deciding that Sam would be more patient with him if he kept his mouth shut. It was a smart choice.

Sam looks the devil over as he nears Lucifer, noting the budding bruises littering what parts of the other’s skin he could see. It wasn’t until he was just a couple feet away that he noticed why Lucifer was gripping his shoulder the way he was. “You’re bleeding.” The statement came out almost as a question, with how surprised Sam was by that fact. The devil can bleed now, and Sam had never considered that a possibility before.

“Oh, this?” Lucifer lifts his hand from the wound, acting as if he’d only just noticed it himself. “You just nicked me with that third shot. I’ll be fine.” He eyes the things in Sam’s hands, indicating them with a dip of his head. “I assume you want to assure that I’m actually human now?” He extends the arm that’s already bleeding towards Sam. “Test away, I’ve got nothing to hide.”

As the handcuffed arm was extended to him, Sam could see the bright red and purpling bruise on his right arm where he’d stopped the bunker door from closing on him. Yikes, Dean wasn’t exaggerating. The guy really looked like he’d been through the wringer.

But all Sam had to do was take one look at Lucifer’s face, and any sympathy or pity he felt for the man evaporated. The hunter grabs the arm offered to him after setting down or pocketing everything but the silver knife. “You better not, or I don’t care what Dean thinks, I’ll gut you like the monster you are.” And with that, he cuts a line across the meat of Lucifer’s arm, maybe a little deeper than necessary.

The devil grits his teeth against the sting of it, but doesn’t complain. “… That’s fair.” He admits weakly, not meeting Sam’s eyes. “You’d be perfectly justified in doing so.”

Next was the iron knife, and though Sam knows perfectly well that he only needs to press it to the other’s skin, he cuts another line anyways. Lucifer must know, too, but he doesn’t say anything on the matter. At least this is better than being killed, he reminds himself. It could always be worse. Lucifer passes the iron test, too.

So that crosses Shapeshifter, Were-wolf, ghoul, skinwalker, and ghost off the list.

Sam doesn’t say anything further, just handing Lucifer the flask of holy water. “Drink it.”

Lucifer does without hesitation, and nothing happens. So, not a demon. Anymore.

As he does, Sam injects a tiny amount of the dead man’s blood into his right arm, nodding when the skin doesn’t react to it.

So, he’s not a vampire.

And finally, the last test. Sam lays a circle of holy oil around Lucifer, who stays mostly still and completely silent as he does. When he’s satisfied with it, Sam gives a slight nod, then straightens up and drops his lighter on it. Now’s the moment of truth; is he an angel and just faking all this?

Lucifer eyes the fire around him for a second before steeling himself, shutting his eyes, and stepping outside of the ring quickly. He cracks one eye open once he’s outside, and looks back at the ring of fire.

Like he can’t help himself, the devil cracks a wide smile. Sam eyes him suspiciously. “What are you so happy about?”

Lucifer faces Sam again, his smile fading as he does, but not quite disappearing. “I’ve just never been able to do that before. I mean, I _have_ , but it always took a massive amount of power, or it hurt like a bitch. Now that I just… _can_ … It’s kind of neat, you know?” He explains, looking back at the fire. “You humans have it good, you know that? Immortal souls, free will, no imposed limitations, Dad really went all out when he made humanity… it’s no wonder you’re the dominant species.”

Dean reached them then, carrying two mugs of coffee and a fire extinguisher under one arm. He cocked a brow at the blonde. “Not so anti-human now, huh? Why the change?” He hands the mugs to Sam so he can put the fire out.

Lucifer waits for Dean to finish before answering. “I’m trying to make the best of a bad situation. I had two choices when Rowena left me without my grace. I could sit there and wallow in self-pity and self-loathing, or I could get off my sorry ass and _do_ something about it.”

Dean smiles a little. “With an attitude like that, you’ll fit right in around here.”

Sam clicks his tongue in disagreement.

“Stuff it.” Lucifer huffs, but doesn’t seem to be offended. “I won’t say I prefer being human to having my grace… but it really isn’t all as bad as I thought it would be.” The blonde admits, holding his shoulder once more to keep pressure on where Sam grazed him with a bullet. There are cuts on his arm too now, and he doesn’t have enough hands to put pressure on both. “The bleeding, I could do without though.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, you and I both, pal.” He sets the fire extinguisher down and takes his coffee mug back from Sam. “Sammy, mind patching him up real quick while I clean up this mess? Can’t have him bleeding out all over our floor.”

“Sure, Dean.” Sam turns to go get what he needs with a roll of his eyes. Personally, he’d rather just leave Lucifer like that, but Dean’s right. They’re agreeing to let him stay so he can help them, and he can’t help them if he dies of blood loss.

Before he gets very far, though, Dean pipes up again with, “Hey, take him with you, wouldya? I can’t clean up with him right in the middle of all this.”

“I can clean it up.” Lucifer offers. “It’s because of me that you needed it anyways.”

Sam and Dean are taken aback by the unexpected offer. They exchange a glance that conveys an entire conversation, and Sam nods to Dean, who turns back to Lucifer. “Alright. I’ll get what you need, and Sam will fix you up first.” And with that, he produces a hairpin (which definitely _doesn’t_ belong to him) and picks the lock on the handcuffs.

With a nod of understanding, and still holding his shoulder, Lucifer follows Sam down the stairs. It’s a quick walk to the kitchen, where Sam pulls out a roll of bandage cloth and a rag, then runs water over the rag to wet it. Nothing is said between them as Lucifer rolls up his sleeve to expose the gunshot wound to Sam, who quickly cleans both it and the knife cuts up with the rag, and then proceeds to wrap the gunshot wound up.

It’s silent for a long while, until Sam finally speaks up. “It’s been bugging me for a while. Before Rowena… you know, took your grace, you didn’t really do anything but look for a vessel, as far as I could tell. Did you have a plan? What were you going to do once you found one?”

Lucifer shrugs, then winces at how the motion affects the wound on his shoulder. “Not really. To be frank, I’d probably just start smashing things. My head was in a pretty bad place after that fight.”

Sam arches a brow at that admission. “Why? Didn’t God apologise to you? You two were cool, right?”

Lucifer releases a derisive snort, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah. He apologised for abandoning me, and the rest of our family. And what’s the _very_ next thing he did, Sam?” When the hunter doesn’t respond, Lucifer answers his own question. “He abandoned me. Again. D—God just said whatever he had to to get me to do what he wanted. He needed my help, so he told me what I wanted to hear. And I fell for it, like he knew I would.” Lucifer’s fist tightens for a moment, and then he just releases it, the anger draining from his body, as if he didn’t have the will to hold onto it anymore. “We’re all just toys to him. Broken, disappointing toys. I see that now. He told me I was his favourite, made me think I was special… but now that I’ve outlived my entertainment value, he’s tossed me aside. He’s tossed us all aside. I’m done throwing tantrums to get his attention now, I think. It’s just not worth it. He’s not worth it.”

Sam focuses on bandaging Lucifer’s forearm up, debating whether he’ll actually be needing stitches for the cuts or not. He decides that he’ll take another look at them after Lucifer’s done cleaning, and decide then. “Being human made you decide all that, huh?”

The once-angel shakes his head slightly. “I think I’d eventually reach that conclusion regardless of whether I had my grace or not. Abandoning us again for Amara… it was the last straw, for me. Not having any power definitely forced me to be less destructive, though.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Sam agrees as he finishes cinching up the bandage wrap, and releases Lucifer’s arm. “Alright, you’re good.”

Lucifer gives his bandaged arm an experimental stretch, before turning back to Sam with a half-smile. “Thanks. Back to the staircase, yeah?”

Sam was about to just agree, but he caught sight of something odd when Lucifer smiled, and his brows drew together. “Are you… missing teeth?” Without thinking, his hand shot up to grip Lucifer’s jaw, so he can take a better look. “Let me see.”

The blonde flinches as he does, then seems upset with himself for doing so. He can’t seem to decide whether to allow or deny the request.

It doesn’t matter, because a thumb dragging Lucifer’s lower lip down is all Sam needs to reveal Lucifer’s bottom row of teeth. “How did this happen?” Where his pointed lower canines should be, there were just smooth gums, one which looked like it was an old wound, long healed-over, and the other which looked like it had been recently burned shut, and then had the damaged skin broken again. It looked painful enough to make Sam cringe.

Deciding that he doesn’t like being manhandled this way, Lucifer forcefully jerks his chin out of Sam’s grip, turning away from the hunter and towards the door. “It doesn’t concern you.” He starts walking out of the room, shoulders tensed defensively. “Thank you for bandaging up my arm, but _don’t_ grab me like that again.” His voice shakes slightly, like he wants to yell, but is willing himself to keep his temper in check.

Sam knows the feeling, strangely enough. And as much as he wants to use the other’s reaction as proof that he’s not as reformed as he wants them to think, he can’t really blame the other for being upset.

Still, Sam can’t find it in himself to sympathise with the devil. “Watch your tone.” He glares at the ancient being’s back. “I didn’t do it for your sake. Thank Dean.”

“I will.” The shorter man replies stiffly, leaving the kitchen without waiting for Sam. The hunter follows after him, if only to keep an eye on the man he still sees as a threat, despite all the evidence to the contrary.

It’s only now that he’s behind the other man that he notices Lucifer’s pronounced limp. He’s obviously trying to disguise it, but Sam can still see how much of a struggle it is for the blonde to walk normally. He covers it up better when he reaches the stairs, and can use the railing to help steady himself.

If he was anyone else… _anyone_ , even Crowley, Sam might’ve taken pity on him and told him to go get some sleep. But instead the younger Winchester feels a brief rush of triumph and vindication. In fact, he’d like to shake Crowley’s hand for doing such a number on the devil, even without knowing what exactly it was he did. He should probably be disgusted with himself for finding enjoyment in someone else’s suffering, but it’s Lucifer, and Sam feels that if he can enjoy _anyone’s_ suffering without being a bad person for it, it would be Lucifer’s. If anyone _deserves_ to suffer, it’s Lucifer.

Sam stays by the map table, watching as Lucifer makes his way up the stairs to Dean, who’s holding a couple towels. “Our fire extinguisher just uses water, so all you really have to do is dry it up.” The older Winchester explains, tossing one of the towels to Lucifer. “You sure you don’t need help?”

“I think I’m perfectly capable of drying up a little water on my own, Dean. I’m human, not an infant.” The blonde replies testily, and Dean wonders what put him in such a bad mood. One look at the vaguely self-satisfied expression on Sam’s face is all the evidence he needs.

Oh boy, this arrangement is going to be _real_ fun, he can tell already.

What did Dean sign himself up for?

With the towel in hand, Lucifer slowly drops to one knee, his face kept carefully blank as he gets to work on the wet and scorched ground. Giving a shrug, Dean leaves him to it, making his way down the staircase to talk to Sam again.

“What’d you do?” The older Winchester asks softy, tiredly. When Sam tries to look like he doesn’t know what Dean’s talking about, Dean steals one of his brother’s signature bitchfaces. “It seemed like he was in a pretty good mood, and now he’s all… Defensive, I dunno. People don’t pull three-sixties for no reason, Sam.”

The younger Winchester huffs in disagreement. “He’s not people.”

Dean just keeps up that judgemental look until his brother caves.

“Okay. Jesus. It’s not even my fault.” Sam rolls his eyes, starting to walk away, back towards the kitchen to put up the first aid kit. “He smiled and I noticed that he’s missing some teeth. His canines, specifically. I asked him about it, and he got all touchy. That’s it.”

Dean nods to himself at that, glancing back up at Lucifer from the kitchen’s threshold. “It looks like Crowley really got even with him. Half of me wants to give him a crisp high-five, the other half wants to know what the hell he did to spook Lucifer into running here, of all places. Lucifer seems like the kind of guy who would stand and fight, unless he literally had no options left.”

Sam hums in agreement as he packs away the bandages and antiseptic. “Too bad we probably won’t get anything out of him. Especially once Cass and I vote to kill him.”

“You’re sure Cass will want him dead? I think it’d be sweet to have literal, actual Satan helping up fight demons. You should’ve seen the warding he uses. I’ve never seen anything like it. And we _know_ it works, because he’s managed to effectively hide from… well, from pretty much everybody for _months_.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Sam’s tone is tough, unforgiving. “He can be as knowledgable and useful as he wants, but Cass and I know he’s nothing but evil. You haven’t had him in your head, Dean.” He gives his brother a hard look. “There’s nothing redeemable about him. The second he has a chance to screw us over, he’ll take it, regardless of any empty promises he’s made or debts he owes us.”

“So we don’t give him a chance.” The elder brother responds glibly. “I know it’s a tough job, Sammy, but since when have we ever taken the easy jobs? Anyways, he’s way out of his depth here. We have the home field advantage, and we’re better at this human thing. How hard can babysitting him be?”

Winchester the younger shakes his head with mild disbelief. “I don’t know Dean, how hard was it for Crowley to find him? Don’t underestimate Lucifer, man.” He shoots a look at the man he can’t currently see through the doorway, past his brother. “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. But I can wait for Cass. We’ll do things your way, for now.” He finishes with the kit, putting it all back. “Speaking of which, what’s your plan? We can’t just leave him free to roam around here while we wait for Cass.”

Now there’s a good question. What _does_ one do with the devil?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, how dramatic do you have to be for your death wish to be to die fighting your greatest adversary?
> 
> Drama level: Satan
> 
> This will probably be the longest chapter that I post. For once, I'm not exactly sure how long this story will end up being. It has the potential to be _very_ long. I've got most of it worked out, but the end is still kinda fuzzy. Tell me what y'all think so far?


	2. Hotel California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I was thinking to myself,  
> "This could be Heaven or this could be Hell"  
> ...  
> You can check-out any time you like,  
> But you can never leave!"  
> \- Eagles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning: PTSD. The flashback is not shown, but the effects of it are.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> You're welcome to ask me in a comment, on skype (NerdaliciousMelizza), or Kik (BabeCallMeMel) for a summary of what goes on in this chapter, and I will gladly accommodate you.

With—at most—three and a half hours until Castiel gets back to the bunker, they decided that the best, safest thing they can do with the Devil is contain him. So, after much deliberating, Sam won the argument to put him in the torture dungeon, as opposed to one of the many unused rooms in the bunker. He reasoned that it’s because the doors can’t be picked, and they can strap him to the chair to make him stay put.

Dean thought it was kind of overkill, but he caved (in part) because he knows Lucifer’s presence makes Sam uncomfortable, especially since the guy appropriated his room the last time he was here. The other part of him just really doesn’t like Lucifer, and wants to see him locked to a chair in a dark room lined with instruments of torture.

Lucifer, of course, vehemently protested this decision, and tried to talk them out of it the whole way down. He even asked to be handcuffed back to the staircase instead, a suggestion which Dean considered for all of five seconds until Sam pointed out that they’ve only got the sex-handcuffs, since they haven’t visited Jodi to replace the ones they lost on that ghost hunt.

Even through all of his protesting, however, Lucifer never raised a hand to, or tried to fight his way free of either of them. It was pretty obvious that he was considering it at times, but he never acted upon the urge. Whether that was because he knew he didn’t stand a chance in his condition, or because he was just choosing to be cooperative, was unclear. He struggled a little upon actually seeing the room, but not nearly enough to cause either of them to release their grips. Sam pushed him down roughly into the chair and clicked one of the wrist-restraints into place before Lucifer could react. Dean got the other one while Lucifer attempted and failed to yank his restrained wrist free.

It might’ve just been Dean’s imagination, but he thought he could hear Lucifer’s breath coming more quickly and shallowly than before. They left his legs unrestrained, mostly because the effort wasn’t really worth it, since he’s only going to be there for a few more hours, if that.

As they left, his voice called out to them one more time, far more quietly and subdued than they’d heard to this point. “Could you… leave a light on?”

Neither of them responded, looking at each other and silently debating his request.

After a few seconds he adds, “please?”

Dean shrugs, telling Sam that he doesn’t really care either way. Like ‘why not?’

The younger Winchester shakes his head, then turns to the devil. “We’re not dragging a lamp down here just so you can use it for a couple of hours. You’re Satan, you don’t need a night-light. Cass will be back in about three hours, so take a nap or something. You look like you could use one anyways.”

“… What about a flashlight?”

 _“No.”_ Sam shakes his head, giving Lucifer a ‘seriously?’ look.

Lucifer looks dejected as his gaze turns downwards, not answering Sam. The hunter didn’t wait for one anyways, starting to leave and shut the bookcase-doors before he even finished speaking.

As the doors closed on the once-Archangel, Dean almost thinks he hears a whimper.

He can't help but think that Lucifer’s reaction to this is excessive. Especially for someone who suggested battling to the death as a viable option for his fate. Why’s he so against being locked up for a little while? It’s just dark. He asks Sam as much.

The younger man shrugs his broad shoulders. “I'm not sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if he’s just trying to make us feel sorry for him.”

“Maybe. He seemed pretty convincing though… What if he’s not faking it?”

“Dean. He’s Satan.”

And that was the end of the discussion.

 

* * *

 

 Sam and Dean are in the library, still discussing their big blonde problem when the bunker door opens up. They quiet down, and it doesn’t take long before Castiel finds them, his blade in hand as he sweeps into the library.

Upon seeing that both Sam and Dean are _fine,_ he stows the weapon away. “Where is he?”

“The dungeon.” Sam gestures in the general direction, and Dean motions for Cass to take the seat next to him. “He’s not going anywhere, and we need to talk.”

“Indeed.” Castiel takes the seat offered to him, watching both men intensely. “Tell me now, are we considering Lucifer’s offer?”

At the same time Dean says “Yes,” Sam nearly shouts “No.”

Unlike most people, Castiel’s spent enough time around the Winchesters to not be phased by that. “I’m the tiebreaker then, I presume?” Upon receiving silent confirmation, he continues, “Before I say anything, let me elaborate on what he intends to do. It’s very possible to bind an angel to a human like he mentioned, and angels that do are most commonly referred to as ‘guardian’ angels.”

“Guardian angels?” Sam looks surprised. “So those are real?”

“Yes, Sam.” The trench-coated angel nods, and then starts to explain. “The bond gives these guardian angels fine attunement to those that they bind themselves to, so they are able to sense when their human is in danger and respond quickly to such a thing. It’s rare and is usually a sign of great devotion, or love in some cases, but I can see how he could use it in the way he described to you. Such a binding must be voluntary on the angel’s part, so it’s very rare. He would have to both write out the spell in his own blood, and recite the correct prayer to do it. I can verify if he is doing so correctly.”

“Okay…” Dean leans back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head. “So besides the spidey-sense, what else does it _do_? How do we know binding himself like that will make him keep his word?”

Castiel smiles knowingly to himself. “I’m getting there. The thing with guardian angels is that they only bind themselves if they feel very strongly for that person, because it’s more or less suicide. Unless they are bound to another person, when the human they are bonded to dies, they die as well. They are driven to protect their bond-mate with their lives, because if they don’t, they die anyways. And while they technically aren’t _required_ to do as their bond-mate asks, their connection to the human’s soul usually prompts them to do whatever is asked of them. The longer it lasts, the stronger the bond will be. You two probably won’t even notice it though, most humans can only see the effects it has on their guardian.”

Dean gives Sam a pointed look, and then turns back to Castiel. “Okay, so what you’re telling us is; Lucifer didn’t lie to us, and he would only offer this if he was _really_ desperate.”

“That is correct.” The angel nods, folding his hands in his lap. “He’s made us a _very_ good offer, assuming we can get his grace back. And even if we can’t, he’s right that he knows far more about all things monstrous and unholy than any of us do. Besides that, Lucifer is by far the most intelligent and creative angel I’ve ever met. Even without his grace, he can be incredibly helpful. If it weren’t for his offer to bind himself to us, I’d be worried that even only being human, he might use that against us and almost certainly would win.” Dean thinks he actually sounds a little excited, but it’s always hard to tell with Castiel. “I’m absolutely certain this is his last option. Lucifer would never willingly give up any amount of his freedom unless he had no other choice.”

The younger Winchester’s voice is filled with surprise as he rejoins the conversation. “You sound like you want to let him stay? Cass, he’s been in your head, you _know_ we can’t trust anything he says.”

“I…” Castiel hedges, his tone a little more unsure than before. “What he says adds up, Sam. He hasn’t made up anything he can’t follow through on, and while I don’t necessarily believe he’s changed, I believe he’s desperate enough _to_ change. And,” he looks vaguely guilty as he continues, “He’s my brother. No matter what else he’s become, we’re still family. And I can’t… I can’t just ignore my brother when he’s crying out for help like this. Would you?”

Looking exasperated, Sam shakes his head. “Cass, this is different. He’s not just some dick angel, He’s _Lucifer._ You don’t owe him anything. He _killed_ you.”

“And I’ve killed more angels than he ever did.” Castiel’s tone is harsh, and filled with regret. “You said that I deserved a second chance, and you’ve given me more chances than I could possibly hope for, so why not him, too?”

Dean reaches forward to grasp Castiel’s shoulder. “You are _not_ worse than Lucifer, Cass. You’re one of the good guys.”

“Am I?” The angel shakes his head, but doesn’t pull away from Dean. “I tried to play God too, and I succeeded. I killed people Dean, for _petty_ reasons. I murdered hundreds of angels, simply because they wouldn’t bow down to me. I released the Leviathan. I helped Metatron cast all the angels out of Heaven. I’ve done _horrible_ things, Dean. And what has Lucifer done? Yes, he participated in starting the apocalypse, but so did I, and thousands of other Angels. He tortured Sam for caging him once again, but _I’m_ the one who broke his wall down.” He shoots Sam a deeply regretful look, and the human cuts him off.

“Yeah, but when you came back to your senses, you took those memories into yourself. You fixed your mistakes, Cass. You’re sorry for what you did. Lucifer, he’s not. He doesn’t care about the consequences of his actions. You’re _better_ than that, Cass.”

“No. I’m not. And I’m not done. Even after we caged him, he helped us against the Darkness, with no ulterior motive that I could discern from his thoughts. He just… this is going to sound strange, but I think he just wanted to be the hero, for once. He never said it explicitly, but he likes Earth, and he knows she would have left nothing behind, so he wanted to stop her. I don’t know about you two, but that doesn’t sound to me like someone who can’t be redeemed. We should give him a chance.”

His points are met with silence as the brothers look at each other. Cass makes a good case for Lucifer, though they still don’t agree that Castiel is the worse of the two angels.

As for Dean, his mind is already made up. Castiel is only helping solidify his judgement. Maybe it’s because he can draw parallels between how Chuck parented Lucifer and how John parented both him and Sam, maybe it’s because they’ve both held the mark, but for whatever reason, he wants to give the devil a chance. He wants to see Lucifer change and use his strength for the good of all, and not just for his own gain.

Sam’s mind is also made, but he can see that his opinion isn’t shared by the other two. With a little grumbling, he stands up from his seat. “So, both of you want to give him a shot?” He waits until he receives two cautious nods, and then huffs out a sigh. “Fine, then he can stay. For now. But I’m shooting him the first time I see him step out of line. And we’re keeping a lock on his door. We can’t afford to trust him, can we all at least agree on that?”

This time, their nods are more confident, and Sam sighs in quiet relief, glad that at least they haven’t _completely_ lost all common sense.

Dean stands up with a clap of his hands, walking towards the doorway. “Alright! It’s decided. Let’s go welcome him to the team, shall we?”

“Lucifer does _not_ get to be part of team Free Will.” Sam argues as he follows Dean from the other side of the table, wearing yet another bitch face.

Castiel lets out a half-hearted chuckle at that, catching up to Dean’s side. “I vaguely remember when you called us that. It seems like so long ago… What were your exact words?”

“Oh God, uh…” Dean chuckles, trying to remember, “got it. One ex-blood Junkie,” he hooks a thumb at Sam, “One drop-out with six bucks to his name, and Mr Comatose over there.” With a cheeky smile, he nudges Cass with his shoulder. “Doesn’t really fit now, does it?”

Sam snorts, shaking his head at the dorks. “He still doesn’t get to be part of the team. He can be like, the coffee guy. Maybe.”

“Well… If you think about it, Sam, he kinda _showed_ humanity free will. So…”

“Dean. No. Not happening.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s welcome him to _el Casa de Winchester_ then, how about that?”

“Eh. Better.”

“Good enough for me.” Dean rolls his eyes at his brother, taking the lead as they head for the dungeon.

 

* * *

 

 Castiel gets antsy as they near the room, tilting his head as if to listen to something. When they get within a few feet of the doors, Sam and Dean can hear it too. Barely audible sobs, interspersed with hiccups. They don’t waste time opening the doors, honestly a little freaked out as they recognise the sound of a man crying weakly.

What they find inside frankly shocks them. Lucifer managed to get one of his wrists free of the cuffs, and the skin where the cuff had previously been is rubbed raw and is bleeding sluggishly. The thumb of his free hand is swollen and purple, and they realise he’d dislocated the digit in order to free his hand. The arm hung limply at his side, dripping blood down his fingers.

He had scratches around his eyes, probably caused by his own hand, as they seemed to appear in sets of threes and fours. It looked like he’d tried to claw his own eyes out, and wasn’t strong or coordinated enough to do so. In addition to tiny tracks of blood where he’d scratched himself fairly deep for a guy with such short fingernails, Lucifer had tears running freely down his face.

The bandages Sam had wrapped around his forearm and shoulder were no longer there, and he couldn’t see where they had gone. Lucifer’s sleeve was soaked in blood now, and Sam guessed that the only reason he hadn’t been able to get that arm free as well was due to the injuries weakening it. It spasmed randomly, and Sam cringed internally as he saw how pale and limp it looked.

But even all of that wasn’t the most shocking thing they witnessed as light spilled into the dungeon from the adjoining storage room. Lucifer didn’t even acknowledge that they’d entered the room, as far as they could tell. He was staring straight ahead, looking at absolutely nothing with an expression of heartbreaking despair and acute fear. His breath was shallow, and his body shook with his sobs. The sounds caught roughly in his throat, and Sam got the impression that he had been screaming earlier.

No one moved for a few seconds, not sure how to comprehend what was right in front of them. Lucifer continued to stare at something only he could see, not recognising that he was no longer alone.

Castiel was the first to move, cautiously walking up to the weeping angel, at a loss for what to do. Slowly, he waves a hand in front of Lucifer’s face. The blonde doesn’t even so much as blink in response. “Lucifer?” He tries shaking the man’s shoulder gently. “Lucifer, what…?”

That gets a response, if you can call it that. Lucifer flinches violently away from the touch, immediately beginning to whisper hoarsely in Enochian, sounding almost like he... like he’s pleading.

Castiel listens, and his features dawn first with surprise, and then empathy. “Dean, unchain him. Now.”

Dean is frozen in place, shocked by what he’s witnessing, so Sam acts instead, dashing into the other room to get the keys. There’s a yelp of pain from the dungeon while he’s gone, but Sam can’t tell what it was for.

When Sam returns, Castiel is speaking calmly in Enochian to Lucifer, a bit too quickly for him to catch what’s being said. His tone is soothing, and he’s holding Lucifer’s hand, gently wrapping it up with one of the hardly-used bandages Lucifer had pulled off. Sam realises that the little shout of pain must have been in response to Castiel relocating Lucifer’s thumb.

The blonde’s eyes looked a little more focused now, but he still didn’t seem to know what was going on around him. He was facing Castiel now, and his features looked the tiniest bit more relaxed.

Sam unlocks his other wrist and steps back, watching Castiel talk to his brother in their native tongue. Or, perhaps talk _at_ his brother is more accurate. Lucifer still doesn’t seem to be all there, and from what words Sam can catch, Castiel sounds like he’s trying to reassure the older angel.

It appears to be working, albeit slowly, and Lucifer eventually looks around, reddened eyes recognising Sam and Dean as they land on each of them. He realises his other hand is free finally and reaches up to touch his face, looking surprised to see blood and tears on his fingers as he pulls his hand back.

He says something quietly to Castiel, who nods and steps back, giving Lucifer room to stand up. The blonde is shaky as he gets to his feet, and looks embarrassed and a little distrusting as he glances back at the Winchesters.

No one really knows what to say, until Dean voices the question Sam desperately wants to know the answer to. “What just happened?”

Lucifer opens his mouth, closes it, swallows, and tries again. His voice is so hoarse, it’s almost painful to hear. “I had a… well, several… flashbacks. It happens… It happens when I feel trapped. My friend… He said I have PTSD.”

“Your friend?” Sam asks, almost before Lucifer finishes answering.

Lucifer nods, reaching into his shirt to pull out a necklace with a ring hanging from the chain. “Kevin Tran. He was in a car I found. He said he knew you?”

“Wait, wait.” Dean waves his hands in front of himself, stepping closer to Lucifer. “Back up, you said PTSD? As in Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? About what?”

“The cage.” Surprisingly, it’s not Lucifer who answers, but Castiel. “He spent aeons trapped there, Dean. Sam developed hallucinations after only a year within it, wouldn’t you agree that’s traumatic?”

Lucifer nods, confirming the answer.

Sam feels a pang of guilt because Lucifer _asked_ them for a light, and Sam should have realised what this situation would remind him of. Was it really so much trouble to get the man a lamp, that he had to leave Lucifer to be haunted by his memories of the cage for… (Holy crap) _three_ hours?

Then again, It’s not like Lucifer _told_ them about this. How was Sam supposed to know? He gets closer to see the ring on Lucifer’s necklace. He vaguely recognised it as Kevin’s father’s, and he’s sure that the name inside would confirm Lucifer’s claim. How _else_ would the Devil know who Kevin Tran is?

“Wait, but Chuck sent Kevin on to heaven, we saw him. That’s how he proved he was God…”

Lucifer shakes his head, tucking the necklace back away. “Kevin didn’t want to move on. His mother was missing, so he stayed. I found him, helped him find out what happened to her, and he helped me for a while before he started… slipping. With his unfinished business, well… _finished_ , it got harder and harder for him to stay in the veil.” His voice sounds downright raw, and Dean can’t help but internally cringe, knowing how painful it must be for him to speak. Lucifer shrugs, looking vaguely sorrowful. “He was a good friend. It was his suggestion that I go here for safety, when he realised he might slip and never come back.” He looks down for a second. “I should have done so earlier.”

Castiel reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s enough, Lucifer.” He shoots the Winchesters an unreadable look. “Can you two interrogate him later? He obviously needs to rest.” His tone is reproachful, making Sam and Dean feel like they’re being scolded.

Lucifer looks back up, eyeing Castiel questioningly, but before he can ask whatever he wanted to ask, Castiel cuts him off. “Shh. Yes, we decided to let you stay. Sam, would you like to tell him what your conditions are?”

Sam’s still a little shell-shocked, seeing Lucifer in this state of… misery and helplessness. The blonde is standing tall now, acting as if he’s unaffected, but Sam can see in the way his hands shake ever so slightly, and the tone of his abused voice, that he’s hurting, and the tough-guy act is just that; an act. He clears his throat, still feeling a little guilty. For all Lucifer deserves, he didn’t deserve this kind of treatment, not when he’s hurt and begging for help. Sam can’t even claim he would have acted differently had Lucifer told him about the PTSD, because Sam would have simply assumed he was lying.

A suspicious voice in the back of his mind still questions whether what he sees is proof enough, or if it’s just another act to string them along into pitying him.

Ignoring that voice, Sam nods, and does as asked. “You’ll have your own room, but it will lock from the outside. You don’t get any weapons. If we catch you with any, you’re out. Some rooms are off-limits. You can be in your room, the kitchen, the common area, and the library, but none of the storage rooms, our rooms, the war room, or the garage. Again, if we catch you where you’re not supposed to be, you’re out. And that’s if I don’t catch you first, because I _will_ shoot you, Lucifer. Understood?”

The archangel nods, then smiles a tiny bit, speaking up again in a tone that says he’s clearly joking. “Don’t get caught. Gotcha.”

Dean snorts, and Sam shoots him a glare. Castiel shakes his head, getting a grip on Lucifer’s shoulder and beginning to tug him out of the dungeon. “Come on, let’s find you a room before Sam shoots you. I need to tend your wounds, too.”

“He already shot me. It wasn’t that bad.”

“ _Lucifer.”_

“I mean, yes Castiel, whatever you say, Castiel, it won’t happen again, Castiel.”

“Why does that not convince me at all?”

Lucifer just huffs out a laugh, not answering his younger brother.

When they’re gone, Sam groans, pulling a hand down his face. “How did _I_ become the bad guy here?”

Dean shrugs. “Maybe when you told the PTSD-victim that he couldn’t even have a flashlight?”

“How the hell was I supposed to know? And I didn’t see you doing any more for him.”

“He did practically beg us not to lock him in the dark, Sam. I didn’t argue with you because I figured I was already on thin ice for forgetting to check that he’s human. I was a little more interested in making sure you didn’t just decide he’s not worth the trouble and shoot him before Cass got here. I mean, you have to admit, you weren’t exactly keeping an open mind about him.”

“Of course I wasn’t. Dean, the last two times he was here, he tried to kill us. What I don’t get is why _you’re_ so chill about all this.”

Dean shakes his head tiredly. “I don’t know, man. It just doesn’t feel off to me. I think we’re finally catching a break, and _God_ _knows_ we deserve one by now. As long as he’s here, we know right where Lucifer is, and if he’s helping, then more power to us, right?”

“We _hope_ he helps us.” Sam mutters, unconvinced.

“Cass says he will, and that’s good enough for me.” Dean shrugs, heading out of the room. “I’m gonna go help patch him up and get him a decent bed. We probably owe him that much for putting him through that shit.”

Reluctantly, Sam agrees, following his brother out. “I’ll… I’ll grab him a beer and some food. Dude looks like he hasn’t eaten anything decent in a while.”

Slowing down a bit, Dean falls into pace with Sam in order to pat his brother on the back. “Good idea. I’ll make sure he’s got a room off of the library, does that sound good?”

It wouldn’t be in the same hallway as theirs, meaning Sam would hopefully run into him less often, which is good. And if it’s close to one of the places he’s allowed to go, then there’s less excuse for him to be wandering outside of that area. The younger Winchester nods in approval.

“Great. I’ll tell Cass, see you there in a bit.” Dean jogs to catch up with the two angels who he can still see, much further down the hall than he and Sam are.

Sam keeps his pace, not eager to get any closer to Lucifer than he has to. He’s both dreading and looking forward to the moment he catches Lucifer doing something against his rules. On the one hand, it means Lucifer might be attempting to kill them and take the bunker for himself, and he very well might succeed. But on the other hand… They might just be able to get rid of the Devil for good. Whether that’s handing his sorry ass over to Crowley, or putting a bullet through his skull… either way sounds good to Sam.

He keeps his eyes trained on the other three as Dean catches up, saying something Sam can’t hear to the limping man. Lucifer’s body language tells Sam he’s making some kind of joke, and Dean laughs, while Castiel shakes his head.

With a mild bout of dread, Sam realises that he now has _two_ idiots with Dean’s sense of humour to deal with. Oh God, he’s not sure he can _take_ anymore of Dean’s stupid puns and suggestive comments. And now there’s _two_ of them.

How is he going to survive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that the chapter is much shorter this time. They'll likely all be about this length from now on. And I'm sorry that Sam's a dick. He'll warm up to Lucifer... probably... eventually...
> 
> Have a good Saturday!


	3. Sympathy for the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So if you meet me  
> Have some courtesy  
> Have some sympathy, and some taste  
> \- The Rolling Stones

  ** _**If you have not yet read Penance, do so before this chapter, or you will get lost.**_**

**_Warning: Drama._ **

The Devil looked a hell of a lot better by the time Sam reached him with a Coors Light, reheated leftovers from last night, and a box of tools. He’s about to find out if Satan likes Chinese takeout.

“Hold still, would you?” Dean’s voice rings out impatiently, followed by a muttered apology from the blonde, who then continues conversing with Castiel in their native tongue. Sam catches some of it, and almost rolls his eyes as he realises they’re talking about their respective experiences with food as humans. Castiel is trying to convince Lucifer that PB&J is way better than Banana-Nutella, and the devil is passionately advocating for the reverse.

 _"_ Banana-Nutella _doesn’t even sound cool. And it’s such a mouthful. How would you shorten it?”_

 _"You don’t.”_ Lucifer rolls his eyes, gesturing in a frustrated way with his free hand. _“You call it what it is._ PB&J _sounds too much like_ PJs _, anyways.”_

 _"It has to have another name._ Nutana? Buttella? _Yeah, you like_ Buttella _sandwiches.”_

The conversation is even more odd, because there aren’t any words for ‘Nutella’, ‘PB&J’, and ‘PJs’ in Enochian, so their strange language is just seemingly randomly punctuated by words in English, making for a very confusing conversation to anyone who didn’t understand Enochian.

“ _I do not_ _like_ Buttela _sandwiches. Don’t be such a fledgeling, Castiel.”_ Lucifer follows up the statement with a friendly shove to his little brother’s shoulder.

From the look on his face, Dean has also picked up on the conversation, and is heartily amused by it. Sam finds himself kind of hoping Castiel and Lucifer keep speaking to each other in Enochian, because having two native speakers around will help him learn the language better, which could be pretty useful. One can never know enough of the language of Angels.

Presently, Dean is redressing the wounds on Lucifer’s arm, and Castiel is taking a wet washcloth back from the blonde, which he presumably used to clean up his face and wrist. His right arm still looks like it belongs to someone in a morgue, but at least the rest of him is looking a little less beat up. The scratches around his eyes are just red, and it seems the blood sam saw earlier didn’t originate from them, but from the hands he scratched his skin with. He’s lucky his nails are so short. Or perhaps, not lucky, but smart to keep them that way…

He’s smiling too, and Sam didn’t realise how kind and inviting that face looked when it was wearing something other than a menacing smirk or snarl. For a second, he doesn’t seem like the same guy who brutally tortured him, or haunted him all throughout his waking hours for weeks on end.

And with that thought, the illusion is shattered, and Sam’s gaze on the man hardens once more. Maybe Castiel and Dean are falling for his act, but Sam isn’t about to.

“Eat up, Lucifer.” Sam walks in and sets the food and alcohol down on the low, utilitarian dresser near the bed. The devil’s attention snaps to him as he makes his presence known, the smile fading somewhat as he sees the distrustful look in Sam’s eyes. “This is the one and _only_ time I’m making your food, got it? I’ll show you around tomorrow once you’re rested up, and you’ve done that binding… thing.”

Lucifer nods in understanding, looking at the food like he’s debating if it’s rude to ask what it is or not. “… Of course. I’ve been meaning to teach myself how to cook, anyways.”

In Enochian, Castiel cheekily reminds him that PB&Js are easy to make. Lucifer rolls his eyes in response, and then pushes himself up from where he was sitting on the bed. Dean promptly yanks him back onto his butt.

“I’m not done, dude. Stay put,” the hunter gripes, continuing to re-bandage his forearm. He’s got a bloody needle and floss off to the side, and Sam assumes that must be why his brother’s still working on the bandages.

Lucifer huffs impatiently, but doesn’t argue. He glances at his arm, but his gaze doesn’t linger on the pale and mangled thing for long. He took his first stitches like a champ, Dean notes to himself. He hardly even flinched… but that may be due to blood loss causing his arm to go numb. He did say something about not even feeling the needle, and honestly, that had Dean kind of worried.

Castiel had thus far refrained from healing him with angel mojo, but whether it was because he couldn’t, or chose not to, Dean wasn’t clear on. He’ll ask the angel later.

Sam rolls his eyes at his brother and the devil, dropping the toolset by the door. “I don’t care what you do, or don’t do, so long as you clean up whatever mess you make.” He pulls out a screwdriver, kneeling by the door. “Give me a minute to fix this handle, then I’ll leave you to get some sleep. When was the last time you got some Z’s in?”

“I got about half an hour while Dean was calling Castiel,” Lucifer recounts.

“Before that.”

“Um… about two days ago? I pulled an all-nighter on the road to get to Tulsa.”

Sam shakes his head, feeling a little sympathetic despite himself. “Driving all night is rough. Did Kevin teach you how to drive, too?” He starts unscrewing the handle of the door.

“Yeah. It’s safer at night, though. There’s less people on the road, so I can speed a little. I couldn’t really afford to take a break, anyways. I’ve been booking it across the country like a bat out of Hell since I solved Linda Tran’s murder. I wasted way too much time in Michigan. Honestly, I’m really fucking lucky I wasn’t found out _sooner_.”

“Wasted? Pshh.” Everyone’s heads turn as a new voice unexpectedly joins the conversation.

A grin splits across Lucifer’s face as he recognises it. Again, that smile like the sun breaking through on an overcast day. Whoever it is he’s wearing, the man was blessed with a kind of genuine expressiveness that drew you in, made him seem relatable, trustworthy, kind. So easily, he could put you off-guard, making him the perfect tool for a being like the devil.

Lucifer’s eyes light up as he turns to look, cautious hope written across his features. “Kevin? Long time no see, nugget.”

“Yeah, yeah, old man. Sorry it took me—holy crap, what happened to your arm? And your face?” It’s then that the ghost seems to realise that Lucifer’s not the only one in the room, and his eyes bug out as he sees the Winchesters plus Castiel. “Whoah, what the heck did I miss?”

“It’s a long story, Kev,” the devil sums up, being the only one taking this development in stride. “You’ve been out of action for over a week. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back, actually.”

“So you turned yourself over to Sam and Dean? I disappear for a little bit, and you go get yourself some new groupies? What happened to ‘I’m a strong independent human who doesn’t need any friends’?” The ghost teases him, hopping onto Lucifer’s new bed.

Lucifer doesn’t respond right away, looking like he’s struggling to find the right way to explain himself. He doesn’t want to say it too bluntly, because if he just outright says that without Kevin, he got screwed over by Crowley, _figuratively and literally_ , the ghost will feel bad, and blame himself.

“Crowley happened.” Dean answers for the hesitant Lucifer, knowing the other was trying to find a way to get around telling the ghost that. The hunter actually looked kind of amused, finding it hilarious that Kevin’s friendly enough with Lucifer to tease him like that. “Haven’t seen you in a while, how’s it hanging, Kevin?”

“Wait, Crowley? What?” The ghost looks like he’s just been slapped in the face, and Lucifer cringes internally. “Shit, he found you? And I wasn’t… I wasn’t there to help you… Oh man, I’m so sorry. What did he do to you? How’d you get away?”

Suddenly, all attention is on Lucifer. Sam, Dean, and Castiel all had basic details, like the hellhound, Crowley, the blood… Dean knows what Lucifer looked like when he got here. But only Lucifer knew the whole story, the answer to the question everyone wanted to ask. What _exactly_ scared the Devil so badly?

The blonde looks at the men around him, very aware of how much attention is on him right now. It’s his time to shine. He wishes he didn’t have to do this to Kevin, but there’s a certain way he needs to act right now, in order to make Sam and Dean pity him.

Pity isn’t his first choice, but it’s probably the only way to keep them on his side right now. Everything is very touch-and-go right now for him, and he knows that one slip, one mistake could put him in the doghouse. He needs to create a cushion for himself, something to protect him for now, until he can build up some real trust.

Lucifer looks down, intentionally chewing his lip to make himself look unsure. “I’m… not comfortable discussing that right now.” It’s a lie, but he sells it well. The longer he hedges away from answering this question, the worse they’ll assume it is, and the more sympathy he’ll garner from them until he confesses. Honestly, it _is_ pretty bad, by human standards. It may even be worse than whatever they come up with on their own. And if that’s the case, he’ll only solidify their sympathy for him.

Sam will still be a tough one, though.

Looking back up, he locks eyes with his personal Casper the friendly ghost. “He didn’t do anything I can’t come back from. Don’t blame yourself, Kevin, it’s not your fault I was caught ill-prepared.”

Ironically enough, it actually is. Kevin’s insistence that they return the evidence is what eventually led to Crowley getting ahold of Lucifer’s license plates. But, neither of them know that, and it would be rash for Lucifer to blame his one and only friend for his ill fortune. Not to mention, it wouldn’t erase the fact that he’d been caught in the first place.

“Oh, come on.”

“Sam,” Dean starts in warning, but he’s ignored by his brother.

The younger Winchester barrels on, completely unconvinced. “This is such bullshit. I’m not buying the ‘ _pity me, I’m a victim_ ’ act for one second, Lucifer. Just spit it out.”

He’s committed already, and when Lucifer commits to an act, he doesn’t back out. Not for anything.

“Act?” Though Sam is absolutely (mostly) correct about the blonde’s intentions, Lucifer fills the word with as much contempt and incredulity as he can. The painful, raspy quality of his voice actually adds to the effect. “I’ve had, quite possibly, the worst day of my long life, Sam. That _includes_ my fall. So bad, in fact, that I swallowed my pride, and I came here for help. Since I’ve been here, I’ve been cuffed to a staircase, shot at, cut, and thrown in a dungeon for several hours. I’m tired, hungry, injured, and literally _everything_ aches. I know where I stand with you, so I wasn’t going to complain, but right now Sam, I’m only human. Give me a break, just this once.” He pauses, drawing a careful breath as he gauges the others’ reactions. Sam doesn’t look convinced, but he can tell that Dean and Castiel are being a bit more sympathetic.

“I think I’ve suffered enough indignities today without having a nervous breakdown in front of you all. So please, _excuse_ _me_ if I’m not jumping at the opportunity to recount the things that will surely be haunting my nightmares for weeks, just so that you can satisfy yourself with how thoroughly the devil got what he deserved. Our deal was that I share relevant information with you, and I help you in your hunting, and that’s what I’ll do. What happened to me is, quite frankly, none of your damn business, and if I do ever decide to share, I’ll do it when I’m good and ready to.”

Lucifer isn’t entirely sure where all the defensive hostility in his tone came from, but he finds himself vehemently protesting for his right to keep that knowledge to himself. His words aren’t calculated, they just come to him, more naturally than he thought the would. There may be a little more truth to what he said before than he’d like to admit to himself. He doesn’t want to be affected by what happened to him… but he is. Crowley left his mark on the man, in more ways than one. And despite what he tells himself… Lucifer really doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s not just embarrassed, he’s hurt, and terrified that he’ll be tossed aside as soon as they realise how helpless he was… how weak, and broken he is now.

He’s terrified that they’ll abandon him, just like his father, his brothers, and now Kevin (not that he blames the ghost, it’s not intentional).

Sam makes to move towards him, but Dean gets up and stands in his brother’s way. “Can’t you see he’s had enough for one day, Sam? Let it go.” The younger Winchester opens his mouth to argue, but Dean cuts him off, continuing. “Go cool your damn head. I’ll fix the door handle.”

Looking around at the angel, the ghost, and his brother, all of whom are watching him with varying degrees of disappointment, Sam decides to back down. He still thinks the devil is totally bullshitting them, but he can see when he’s got the unpopular opinion. “You’re taking his side. _Satan’s_ side. Fine. Okay. You do that. I’m gonna go and get my gun ready for when he inevitably tries to stab us all in the back. You know. Like a _sane_ person.”

Sam turns on his heel, leaving the room stiffly.

There’s a moment of awkward silence, during which Lucifer relaxes a little bit, very much glad that he dodged that conversation. He ends up breaking it, addressing Dean. “Thank you.”

Sighing, the elder Winchester turns around to face him, tone tight. “Don’t thank me for arguing with Sam. Just don’t. And don’t you dare expect me to do that again.”

“… In that case, I’m sorry, but I’m still grateful for the help. It’s been a long day.” It’s a little hard to force himself to apologise _and_ thank the human, but he manages it.

The hunter shakes his head slightly, sitting back down on the bed to get back to work on Lucifer’s abused arm. “I’ll bet. I want to know as much as Sam does, what all happened to you… but I remember Hell. I _get_ not wanting to talk about it.”

Ah, so that’s probably why Dean’s been so understanding towards him. He had suspected there was a reason, and he’s satisfied to find that he’s right, there _is_ a more personal motive behind his unprecedented kindness.

Of all people, Lucifer didn’t expect to make an ally out of Dean… but sometimes a guy just gets lucky. “Assuming Sam doesn’t kill me first, I may eventually get around to telling you. It’s just… a bit too fresh in my mind, right now.”

“You need time to let things settle, I gotcha.” Dean nods, putting away the first aide supplies. He catches Lucifer looking at the food Sam brought again, and he chuckles a little bit. “Dig in, dude. It’s just Chinese takeout. I had it last night.”

With a nod, Lucifer picks up the paper box full of noodles, but doesn’t immediately take a bite of it, just picking up the fork and eyeing both the food and the utensil a little blankly.

It’s Kevin who catches on first, Dean not even noticing as he finishes with the first aid kit and moves on to the door. “Like the spaghetti, Lucifer. Twirl the fork in the noodles.”

“I knew that,” comes the immediate reply, an obvious lie.

Castiel snorts, patting his older brother on the shoulder. “It’s okay, brother. You know… It’s okay to admit when you don’t know something. Sam and Dean have been very understanding with me on that front.”

There’s no immediate answer, as Lucifer rushes to occupy his mouth with the somewhat greasy food. A stalling technique, if Castiel’s ever seen one. He swallows it down quickly however, surprise flitting across his face as he tastes the… _very_ good food. It definitely tastes better than it looks. Lucifer takes another forkful before he responds. “Good for you, Cassie. But I don’t need help. This is _really_ good. What’s it called?”

The enthusiasm in his tone for the food makes both Dean and Kevin laugh to themselves. Dean is the one who answers him. “Chow Mein, and I know, right? I’m glad you like it too. Sam hates the stuff; he won’t eat it ‘cause it’s ‘unhealthy’.”

“Sam’s missing out,” Lucifer says off-handedly, spinning up another forkful, “shit’s good.” Moving slowly, the wingless archangel slips his shoes off and with his foot, neatly slides them to rest by the nightstand.

Castiel has been watching his older brother with a strange mixture of worry, hope, and happiness ever since Sam left the room. But upon seeing Lucifer prepare to finally get some sleep, he perks up. “Oh! Um, you left your backpack in that shack, Lucifer. At least, I think it’s yours. I picked it up to take a look through it, do you want it back?”

Finally, a bit of luck. Lucifer had been kicking himself half of the way here for forgetting to grab it in his rush to leave. “I would, yes, thank you …If it’s alright with Sam and Dean, of course. It’s mostly just clothes and the like.” The last bit is said to Dean, by way of explanation.

Dean nods, getting the handle off the door and starting to switch which side the lock is on. “We’ll look through it to check for weapons and stuff, but yeah, that should be fine.”

The next few moments were quiet as Lucifer finished eating, Dean finished up with the door, and Kevin and Castiel both silently tried not to look like they were staring at Lucifer too hard. When Dean packs up to go, Kevin finally speaks up. “I can stay with him, right? You’re not gonna take my ring?”

“…” The eldest Winchester struggles with himself for a minute, torn. On one hand, having a ghost around kinda negates the whole point of switching the lock around. On the other… It’s _Kevin._ He’s not gonna let Lucifer do anything nefarious. Right? “… Yeah. Just, don’t unlock the door, okay Kevin? Sam’s freaked enough as it is.”

“Thank you,” Lucifer answers for Kevin, and then attempts to stifle a yawn.

The ghost looks at Lucifer fondly, then smiles at Dean. “I’ll follow the rules, I promise,” his voice drops to a whisper, and he flickers himself closer to Dean and Castiel so Lucifer can’t hear him. “He sleeps better when I’m around, not that the stubborn old man will admit it.”

“Gotcha.” Dean smiles, still kind of amused at how well the prophet and the devil seem to get along; _that’s_ a friendship he didn’t expect. He tests the handle a couple times, then gestures to Castiel. “C’mon, let’s go so he can get some sleep. Bathroom’s through that door if you need it, Lucifer.” He points off to the right.

Most of the rooms in the bunker don’t have their own bathroom, but a few of the ones off the library do, and the Winchesters’ best guess is that they were for guests, people visiting from other Men of Letters bases. But what really matters about it is that they can keep Lucifer’s door locked without having to worry about taking him to the bathroom first, or anything.

Lucifer and Kevin each wave to them as they go, both looking relieved that they’re not being separated, having grown fairly close over their travels together.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam was sitting in his room cleaning his gun—as promised—when Dean finally found him, toolbox still in hand. He sets the heavy metal container down on the desk, getting Sam’s attention. “I need to talk to you.”

“If it’s about Lucifer, I don’t wanna hear it.” The younger’s tone is stubborn, and he doesn’t stop what he’s doing for even a second.

“Too bad bitch, because you need to.” Dean is equally as stubborn as his brother, taking the gun out of Sam’s hands.

Sam makes to snatch it back, “Hey! Butt out, jerk,” but stops at the took on Dean’s face. He’s not angry, or anything that Sam expected. He just looks kind of… sad. Sam doesn’t say anything, waiting for Dean to get on with his explanation.

“Look, I know you don’t like him, and maybe this won’t change how you treat him at all, but I think I figured out what happened to him. At least, _part_ of what happened to him.” Setting the gun aside, Dean takes the chair next to Sam.

“… I’m listening.”

At the cue to continue, Dean nods, face set in a half-grimace. “When I was fixing up his arm, I caught a look at some of the bruises under his shirt. They’re… bad. Really bad. Like, more bruise than skin bad. It looked like his whole lower back was turning purple. And It got me thinking about how he’s been limping, and the defensiveness when you asked what happened to him. He almost seems embarrassed about it, I think. Like if he tells us, we’ll think less of him.”

Dean takes in a deep breath, continuing carefully, trying not to sound accusatory. “And when you put him in that chair in the dungeon, sitting down seemed really painful for him. I’m sure I didn’t imagine that. Sam…” Again, Dean pauses, obviously not liking what he’s about to say next. His next words are rushed, filled with disgust. “I think Crowley raped him.”

Both Winchesters are quiet for a little longer, before Dean speaks up again. “I’m not expecting you to trust him or anything, Sam. Just… ease up a little, okay? The dude’s had a rough couple of months, and he’s counting on us to save him, now.”

“But, Dean…”

“No buts. And none of that ‘He’s Satan’ bullshit, either. We’ve all done shitty stuff, Sam. We make mistakes. We’re just people. _He’s_ just a person, too. And right now, he’s hurt, and asking very nicely for our help.”

“I know that…” Sam sighs, standing up and glancing at the hallway leading to Lucifer’s room. “It’s just… hard. I’ll try. Does he know what you think happened to him?”

“No. I don’t want to push him in case I’m right. But it’s like he said. Maybe he’ll come to us in time, if we show him a little sympathy.” The older brother pats Sam on the back, then heads for the garage. “Good talk. I’m gonna go grab us some lunch. Any requests?”

“… Can you get me a Gyros Sandwich?”

“You got it, Sammy.” Anything for his little brother, especially when he’s trying so hard to deal with this newest development in their crazy lives. It’s gonna be rough living with the Devil, especially for him.

 

* * *

 

 

Lucifer slept well into the next morning, and when Dean went to go unlock his door the next day, he was amused to find the blonde curled up to his pillow, still completely out cold. He looked so different, face smooth, untroubled. ‘Angelic’, even, he thinks to himself with a wry smile.

But, he didn’t come here to watch the Devil sleep. Kevin is gone again, so Dean just knocks on the doorframe loudly, announcing his presence. “Up-and-at-em, sunshine.”

Lucifer wakes up suddenly, bolting upright with a groan, and looking immediately regretful as he reaches a hand behind his back gingerly, rubbing at sore, bruised muscles. He didn’t wear a shirt to bed, and Dean gets a good, long look at the bruises littering Lucifer’s skin. There’s just… so many. The ones around his hips, especially, look extremely painful. Dean cringes a little, taking in the purple blooming on his ribcage, around his neck, some of it just more prominent now than it had been yesterday. It’s all just so very fresh-looking, and Dean cringes internally, regretting shutting Lucifer in that room, bound to a chair.

He has tattoos, too. More warding, if Dean had to guess. There weren’t many of them, they just lined his ribcage, and like both Winchesters, he had an anti-possession circle inked over his heart. Smart guy.

He looks away, waiting for Lucifer to get his bearings, and hurriedly pull the sheet up to re-cover himself. The angel looked frightened at first, not recognising where he was, until realisations dawned, and he realised that all that had happened the previous day was not, in fact a dream—a nightmare—but it was very real.

It takes him a little bit, but he re-orients himself, and then smooths out his features again, greeting Dean. “… Good morning.”

Dean nods, dropping the backpack in his hand by the door, inside Lucifer’s room. “You too. Here’s your stuff. We took the knife and anything else metal, but didn’t mess with the rest. I’ll leave the door unlocked. Find your way to the kitchen when you’re ready, everyone’s about to have breakfast.”

Nodding in reply, Lucifer slowly gets up, dropping the blanket. It’s a moot point now, Dean’s already seen what he looks like. “Thank you. I’ll be there in a bit.” He speaks a little stiffly, and Dean can’t tell if it’s because he’s in pain, or if he’s in a bad mood. Probably both, to be honest.

The Winchester takes his cue to leave, not wasting time in retreating away from what has quickly become a vaguely awkward situation. “Yeah. I’ll save you some toast, or something.” And with that, Dean shuts the door, rushing to leave the man to his things.

Yikes… Dean can’t help but feel for the guy. Given all the injuries he saw, and that’s _just_ his chest and back, not to mention what they did to his arms… Lucifer must be in a hell of a lot of pain. Dean never would’ve guessed, with how well he hid it all yesterday.

The hunter knew Lucifer was hiding something, but this… whatever he was expecting, this wasn’t it. And if Dean’s right about what Crowley did to him… Then it’s no wonder Lucifer didn’t want to share.

And despite himself, despite all the shit Lucifer put them through seven years ago, even though he used Dean’s best friend and tried to kill both him and Sam… Dean feels for him. He knows what it’s like to be hurting, and pushing through it, having to pretend he’s stronger than he is. It’s not an easy thing to do, and yet Lucifer convinced them all that he’s just fine.

He’s probably worried that they’ll toss him aside if they see him as weak.

And while that may be true of those he’s dealt with in the past… Seeing him overcome his weakness like this, seeing how human he’s become… seeing beneath all that has the opposite effect on Dean.

Now, more than ever, he wants to keep Lucifer here, and keep him safe. He said it to Sam yesterday, but now he’s starting to believe his own preaching.

Lucifer is a person too, he can change, he just needs their help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. Sam is still a massive dick. I'm working on it, I promise.
> 
> But. Yey? Lucifer made it through his first day with the Winchesters!!


	4. Bohemian Rhapsody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this the real life?  
> Is this just fantasy?  
> Caught in a landslide,  
> No escape from reality
> 
> Open your eyes,  
> Look up to the skies and see,  
> I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy,  
> Because I'm easy come, easy go  
> Little high, little low  
> Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me, to me  
> \- Queen (Freddie Mercury)

It doesn’t take long for Lucifer to get ready, just changing from his sweatpants and into a pair of jeans and his ‘lucky shirt’. He’s survived one more day, but a little extra luck can’t hurt, he reasons.

As Lucifer wanders into the kitchen, Dean snorts reflexively, then covers his mouth before he loses food or something equally embarrassing. After regaining his dignity, he smiles at the blonde, almost laughing as he greets him. “Nice shirt, dude.”

Walking a little further into the room, the devil quirks a brow up at Dean, looking lost. “What… What’s so funny?”

 “Oh my God, you don’t know.” Dean bursts into another miniature fit of giggles, because it’s early, and Lucifer is wearing a t-shirt that advertises the ‘Easy Lay’ carpeting company. The devil. Advertising that he’s down to fuck. And he doesn’t even realise.

Sam gives his older brother a look, rolling his eyes. He points his fork at Lucifer, sounding really done already (and he hasn’t even finished breakfast). “That company doesn’t exist. You’re calling yourself an easy lay. As in; easy to get into bed.”

Lucifer looks down at his shirt, looking maybe a little mortified. His ‘lucky shirt’, the first one he’d ever bought, and the one that when he wore, things tended to go right… it was advertising him as… that? How did he not figure that out? And now, especially, he did not want to be associated with sex. He’d prefer to never experience it again, if he can avoid it.

Taking a step back, Lucifer looks back up at them, fighting the urge to retreat. Don’t show weakness. He hides his mortification, trying to mirror Dean’s amusement. “Ahah… no wonder it only cost me a couple dollars.” He makes his way further into the kitchen, his limp a little more pronounced than it was yesterday, now that the last of the adrenaline has been cleared from his system. “Where’s Castiel?”

 “Probably watching Netflix.” Dean manages to sober up, but he’s still smiling as he points over at one of the counters. “There’s a plate on the counter and toast in the toaster for ya. Mugs are in the cabinet above the coffee maker, if you like coffee.”

“ _Hell_ yes.”

The hunter smiles at the devil’s interjection. “Butter and Jelly is over here.”

Lucifer follows where he’s pointing, nodding to acknowledge Dean’s directions. “Thanks, Dean.” He pauses, looking the man over gratefully before continuing. “You’ve been very kind to me. I appreciate it.”

Before Dean can respond, his phone goes off. The hunter reaches for his back pocket, putting down his slice of toast. “Hold that thought.” As he pulls out the small device, he frowns, thumb hovering over the answer button. “… It’s Crowley.”

Both Winchesters look at Lucifer, who stiffens upon hearing the name. It’s Sam who speaks up first. “Let’s see what he wants.” This is followed by a nod from Lucifer who, despite his newfound fear of the demon, is curious to hear what he has to say.

Dean presses the button, and then puts the phone on speaker, setting the phone on the breakfast table.

 “ _Where is he?”_ The demon starts without preamble, voice seething with anger.

Lucifer says nothing, so Dean leans back in his seat, folding his arms. “Hello to you too, Crowley. Where is _who_?”

 “Don’t play _dumb_ with me, Winchester. I know he’s with you; I found his car. Put him on.”

Cringing, Lucifer gives Dean a kind of pleading look, trying to indicate that he doesn’t want to speak to the demon. Dean picks up on it, and shakes his head as he answers. “You’re on speaker. Whatever you want to say to him, you can say to us.”

 “Fine. If the coward won’t speak to me himself, then over speaker it is.” The accented voice is just shy of yelling, at this point. “Whatever deal you think you’ve made with these buffoons, Lucifer, whatever safety you _think_ you have, is temporary. Whatever you can offer them, I can do one better. You can’t hide from me forever, kitten. Don’t get used to your freedom. You’ll be mine again soon enough.”

He can feel the Winchesters’ eyes on him, but Lucifer has eyes only for the phone, feeling hatred grow in his chest as the demon speaks. He glares at the device as he replies, tone full of venom. “I’ll _never_ be yours, Crowley. So go take your empty threats and _fuck off._ Don’t be a sore loser puppy, that’s just _pathetic._ ”

With a growl, the other line clicks and goes dead, signaling that Crowley has hung up.

Pulling a hand down his face, Lucifer turns back to the counter, Pulling the toast from the toaster without another word. His shoulders are tensed like he’s bracing for an attack.

Sam and Dean share a look, a silent understanding passing between them, and Dean closes the phone, stuffing it back in his pocket. “… So, wanna tell us what that was about?”

 “Not particularly.” Again, they share a look, but before either of them can speak up, Lucifer sighs heavily and continues. “But, it concerns you, so perhaps I should tell you what I did to him, to make him so angry with me.” He quirks a brow hopefully at them. “… unless you don’t want to hear it?”

Before Dean can get a word in, Sam answers for them. “No, go ahead. Tell us how bad you fucked up. _Please_.”

The once-archangel fights not to roll his eyes at Sam’s tone. He’s starting to think Sam’s a little _too_ pleased by his current situation. “I didn’t do anything the whelp didn’t deserve. I believe in the punishment fitting the crime, as it would be hypocritical of me to act any differently.” Lucifer draws himself up to his full height, despite how uncomfortable it was for him to do so. “He helped put me in a cage, so I put him in one. He collared Rowena, the one who freed me, treated her like a dog, so I treated him like one, kept him collared by my throne. He fancied himself a king in my absence, so I sat on ‘his’ throne, ordered him to do meaningless, pointless tasks. He double-crossed me, I double-crossed him. That’s all. If you ask me, I was too _easy_ on him. His once-subjects did most of the work for me, honestly. It was punishment enough for him to see that none of his followers bothered to stay loyal to him as soon as there was another option.”

He relaxes a little again, believing he made his point. “I think what really miffs him is that I didn’t pay him much attention at all. He was more of a side-thought; the kid I teased when I was bored and frustrated. I had more important things on my mind.” His voice gets a little quieter as he continues, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “He put a lot of emphasis on my attention being on him, while he….” He stops, shaking himself out of his thoughts.

He doesn’t say anything more on the subject as he thinks. He’s getting the beginning of a worry, wondering if he accidentally _did_ bring this on himself. Crowley is very much an egomaniac, and during the times that Lucifer actually made an effort to get back at him, Crowley didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. It got old very quickly for Lucifer, and he decided it really wasn’t worth the effort. Most demons _are_ egomaniacs, to be honest, and Lucifer starts to wonder if that has something to do with how they’re broken down, made into the loathsome creatures they are now.

Most demons delight in torture, and treat each of their victims with special, personalised ‘care’. He wouldn’t be surprised if most of the souls going through that take solace in the attention they’re receiving. And Crowley, given his history with his mother, craves attention more than most. Maybe what really shook him wasn’t when Lucifer taunted him, gave him servant’s tasks to complete… maybe what shook him was how easily Lucifer lost interest with him. How he’d just stop, and be drawn to the next thing like Crowley wasn’t worth a second thought.

Maybe that’s why he got so angry when Lucifer started to blank out… trying to distance himself from his situation. To Crowley, he didn’t seem like he was so disgusted and horrified that he didn’t want to be there anymore… To Crowley, he seemed disinterested. It seemed like he couldn’t keep Lucifer’s attention even when the Demon is forcing his … Lucifer swallows hard, his thoughts grinding to a halt.

He’s so _weak_ , he berates himself, he can’t even think about… _It._

He hates this feeling, this weakness within him. But, now’s not the time to be worrying about it. He was saying something, and Sam and Dean are still waiting on him.

Finally pulling himself from his distracted mind, Lucifer turns back to the toast and tries to remember what he was doing. “… That’s all I did. I didn’t even pursue him after he used up his hand of God. I just didn’t _care._ As far as I was concerned, we were even.” _Except you weren’t._ He pushes the thought away, but it stays, nagging at the corner of his mind. _Your ‘mercy’ was the worst torment. He’s not even. Not yet._

To be completely frank, Sam had expected worse. And despite his dislike of the blonde, his reasoning for his actions seemed sound, by Lucifer logic, at least. Revenge is definitely Lucifer’s thing. But fairness, too, so his actions as he described them fit his general MO, at least. And the way he just kind of spaced out for a second, that threw Sam off too. It was just… odd.

Once more, the brothers Winchester share a look between them. This time, It’s Dean who speaks. “Hey’a Cass.”

From the door behind Lucifer, the angel greets them, walking in as Lucifer turns around to see him. “Morning, Dean, Sam.” He nods to the surprised blonde. “Brother.” Turning to the hunters, he continues without preamble. “I can verify he’s telling the truth. While I don’t condone his actions,” the younger angel shoots his brother a careful, gentle warning look, “he did no lasting damage to Crowley. Humiliated him, yes. But hurt him? Hardly. When I…” He shoots an apologetic look at the Winchesters, “… worked with him, it wasn’t uncommon to see him do worse to himself, just because he was bored.”

The younger angel stops next to his brother, looking at them all curiously. “Why are we talking about Crowley?”

“He called,” Sam answers, getting up from his seat, “He more or less… declared war on Lucifer? Kind of? You know how dramatic he gets.” The tall man dumps the rest of his toast in the trash, sets his plate by the sink, and heads back to get his coffee and push his chair in. “I’m gonna go look for a case, ask what Mom’s up to.”

Dean nods, letting him go. Obviously, his brother is still worked up about Lucifer being here, but at least he’s not trying to start a fight now? It’s progress?

He sighs once his brother’s out of the room, watching him turn and disappear from sight. “He’ll come around… probably. Eat something, Lucifer. And thanks for being honest, at least that explains the ‘doggy’ and ‘kitten’ thing. And now we sort of get why he’s so bent on catching you again.” Dean takes a bite of his toast and jelly, washing it down with coffee. “Don’t worry about him. You’re safe here, and he’s too smart to mess with us.”

Castiel nods, agreeing with his friend. “You picked the right place to go, brother. You’re in no danger here.”

Smiling a little in appreciation of the reassurances, Lucifer continues to pour himself a mug of coffee after retrieving the toast made for him, and then he goes to stand closer to the other two men. “At least, until Sam shoots me.” He says it jokingly, both recognising their kindness and indicating that he’s feeling better than he did a few moments ago.

He always found it strange, how humans managed to communicate without communicating. At least, in this case, it’s useful to him.

Dean huffs out half a laugh, recognising the joke for what it was. “Har-har.” He gestures to the place across the table from him, and Lucifer sets his plate there, but remains standing. Dean doesn’t question it, just making note of the fact. “Hey, so Sam and I want to get that binding thing done today. After breakfast, I’ll go get him and we’ll get whatever you need from our ‘magic pantry’. Got a list for us?”

Shaking his head, Lucifer starts to spread grape jelly on his toast as well. “A quill would be nice, if you have one, but it’s not necessary. I just need my blood, and a few words.”

The other man nods, a little relieved to find Lucifer is still being honest to them. Castiel already told them how the ritual works, so if Lucifer had answered any differently, they would know he’s up to something. And with Dean’s suspicions about Lucifer’s recent experiences… He feels kinda bad about testing the guy.

But, it’s necessary; especially if he’s going to convince Sam that they made the right choice.

The green-eyed man smiles as he finishes off the last of his toast. “I can get you a quill. I’m sure the old fogies that used to run this place left one or two lying around.” And with that, he takes his coffee, and too, gets up to leave. “Come to the library whenever you’re done, and Cass, come with me?”

Both angels voice their assent, Castiel follows Dean out, and they leave Lucifer to his breakfast.

 

* * *

 

For someone supposedly signing his life away, Lucifer seemed awfully chill about it. He had another bandage wrapped around his right hand, where he’d cut it open and bled into a small dish. With his left hand, he’s very carefully dipping a quill into the little pool of blood, and writing on his right arm. Just below his elbow, he drew a line, wrapping around his whole forearm, and along it, he’s writing out lines and lines of Enochian script in neat, small characters. It’s taking him a long time; he’s being practically OCD about every line he draws onto his arm.

Castiel has been watching him nonstop throughout, making sure he’s doing the ritual correctly. At least Dean can play with his phone while he waits. So as long as the result is the one they need, Dean’s not going to complain about how long it takes to get there.

Speaking of Castiel, he’s been very quiet the whole time, and Dean can’t quite get a read on him.

After what feels like an hour, but was only truly about twenty minutes, Lucifer sets the quill aside, and looks up. “Okay… Sam, you need to sign your name in your blood here.” He points to a blank spot amongst the script. “Just your first name will do. It’s the blood and the intent that seals it.”

The quill is cleaned off with some dotting on a paper towel, and then Sam pricks his finger with a knife, dips the quill in the tiny dot of blood that appears, and without a word, writes ‘SAM’ in his usual scrawl in the space on Lucifer’s arm.

The devil’s lips twitch in slight irritation, but he doesn’t comment on Sam’s dissimilarly messy handwriting, just closing his eyes and collecting his thoughts for a second. Then, he begins to speak in low, methodical, carefully enunciated Enochian. Nothing happens right away, but as soon as he finishes speaking, the blood begins to glow on his arm, and his jaw sets, the corners of his eyes tightening in discomfort.

There’s a hissing, a kind of burning sound, like when you drop water onto a frying pan. A second later, the glow fades, and everything he wrote on his arm is no longer in blood, but set into his skin, a dark brown colour, just a few shades shy of black.

“Well, that’s _one_ way to get a tattoo.” Dean jokes quietly, having not realised that the words were going to _stay_ there, permanently. That’s… they’re branding him. Sam just scrawled his name on a _living being’s_ arm, the same way he keyed his initials into the trunk of the Impala. Dean doesn’t know if he has the guts to brand a person like that.

Ignorant of Dean’s qualms, Lucifer picks the quill up with his right hand, dots the blood off it, and starts to write on his left arm, as carefully as he did with the other arm. It’s unclear as to which hand is his dominant one, as he’s taking about equally long with this one as he did with the last one.

Sam just goes back to reading his book, seemingly unaffected by what he just did. Whether it’s because he doesn’t realise the significance of _branding_ someone, or just doesn’t care… well, Dean would guess the latter, no matter how badly he wants to think better of his little brother.

He’d be wrong. Both assumptions would be wrong. Sam’s been struggling with himself almost as badly as Dean is right now. He _really_ doesn’t want to do this. First and foremost because he doesn’t want Satan anywhere near them, but almost equally because they’re essentially claiming ownership over another living, breathing, thinking thing. This isn’t like adopting a pet dog, this is another person, someone just as intelligent, even _more_ intelligent than they are.

But Sam keeps a carefully blank face and keeps his thoughts to himself, because one: he knows Lucifer doesn’t want to think about what he’s doing any more than he must, and two: It’s necessary. There’s no way to get around doing it without creating undue risk.

Another twenty or so minutes go by, and this time Dean feels like the time passed too quickly, because Lucifer’s handing the quill to him now, and Dean’s still panicking about signing his name on someone, and just… claiming ownership of them. That’s what they’re doing, isn’t it? This makes Lucifer _their_ angel, and takes away an amount his free will, the right to say no to them. Cass said it wouldn’t happen right away, of course… but eventually Lucifer will feel drawn to protect them, help them, do whatever they ask. At least, that’s what Cass said.

And then, when they die, he dies.

Not only are they taking his free will, but they’re taking his life, too. This thing… It’s supposed to be a declaration of devotion, of love. It’s a pact made in part because the angel involved doesn’t _want_ to live in a world without the human they guard. But they’re perverting it, turning something so significant into another tool, and using it against Lucifer.

No matter who he is, what he’s done… this is just _wrong_.

The archangel senses Dean’s hesitation, putting the quill in Dean’s hand and closing the human’s fingers around it with a curious look. “Is there a problem, Winchester?”

Dean stares at the quill in his hand, and then sets it down, feeling vaguely sick. “… Are you sure you want this?”

Lucifer blinks in surprise. Does he _want_ this? No one has asked him what he _wants_ in a long… long time. He watches Dean for a second, picking his words out carefully. “Of course. For the spell to work, I have to be willing to—”

“That’s not what I asked. Wanting and being willing to do something are different. Do you _want_ this?”

His lips twisting a little in irritation from being cut off, Lucifer again, carefully chooses his answer. “I… _want_ to be safe, and for that, I need to prove I’m not a threat to you. To do that, I need to remove the danger I potentially pose. So—”

Dean shakes his head, cutting the blonde off. “But do you _want_ this?”

Again, Lucifer blinks. What is with Dean’s insistence on this? He huffs irritably before answering. “I don’t get what you want me to say. What I want or don’t want doesn’t matter. I’ve made myself untrustworthy to y—”

“That’s not true.” Once again, Dean cuts him off, further annoying Lucifer. “What you want matters. Just answer my question, honestly.”

“I _want_ you to let me finish my damn sentence.” The fallen archangel replies a little snappily. When Dean stays silent, expression unreadable, Lucifer continues. “… No, of course I don’t want to do this. I’m signing my life away to you. I’m practically writing my suicide note. But there’s no better way to ensure I’m not a threat, so if this is the price I must pay for safety, I’ll pay it. Either way, if I do this or not, I’m dead. But at least this way gives me a chance to live first, and as more than a demon’s _possession_.” He stops, realising his tone is becoming very harsh, and he takes a second to reign in his temper before continuing. “So, by necessity, I’m willing to sign my life over to the whims of a couple of humans whom I have _no_ reason to trust not to abuse their power over me. And I’m going to put a smile on my face and pretend like everything’s fine, so please, pick up the damn quill, sign your name, and do the same.” Pointedly, he smiles at Dean, strained and obviously forced, and his tone as he continues matches it, terse and snarky. “Thank you, for _finally_ letting me finish.”

Dean stays silent for another little while, expression conflicted. The two of them have been so focused on one another that they didn’t notice Sam set his book down and watch them attentively, reserved curiosity in his eyes. When he realises that Dean is having trouble finding a way to respond, he speaks up. “C’mon Dean, just get it over with already.”

Dean rounds on Sam then, an incredulous look on his features. “How are you so okay with this? He’s a _person_ , Sam. He’s not… the Impala, or a new jacket, or… or a lunchbox. You can’t just… write your name on someone, and make them yours. That’s _slavery_. I’m not a slaver, Sam. It’s _wrong_.”

The younger hunter shakes his head patiently. “First of all, we’re not kidnapping him and forcing him to do anything against his will. This isn’t slavery, it’s a trade-off; our safety for his safety. And if we ever give him his grace back; his safety for the safety of _all_ of humanity. Like he said, it’s a necessary precaution. And _you_ wanted to do this, Dean. Are you just gonna back out and hand him over to Crowley?”

At that statement, Lucifer looks alarmed, eyes flicking between them with worry.

Dean shakes his head, chewing the inside of his cheek. Sam makes a good point, but he just… it feels wrong.

As he’s eyeing Lucifer’s arm again with obvious reluctance, Sam speaks up again, tone softer this time. “Look, it’s messed up, Dean. But when is anything we get tangled up in _not_ messed up? Nothing’s going to make it less _wrong,_ but if it helps, ask for his explicit consent. He has to get consent to possess a person, so it’s only fair that we get consent to… bind him.”

The older brother seems to like that idea, nodding after a second. “Y… yeah. Okay, sure.” He turns to Lucifer, about to ask, but this time it’s Lucifer who cuts him off.

“This is stupid. But, _fine_ …” He rolls his eyes, very much carrying an ‘I’m surrounded by idiots’ air about him as he speaks. “Yes. I, Lucifer, former Archangel of God, give you my explicit permission to claim me as your guardian. You’re not getting it in writing, so please end this moronic nonsense and sign your name already.”

Dean still doesn’t look pleased with the situation, but he swallows it down for now, knowing that while it’s not a _good_ option, there isn’t a better one, so they’ll have to make do. He picks up the quill, dotting it dry and then drawing blood from his thumb. He writes his name in the blank space, more neatly than Sam’s.

Again, Lucifer recites the binding, perhaps with a terser tone than he had done previously, and again the words glow, then sear themselves into his skin.

And then it’s over, and Lucifer now sports a ring of tattoos on each of his arms, Sam’s name on his right, and Dean’s on his left. He’s quiet for a moment, face unreadable. And then, true to what he said before, he forces a smile back to his face, and nods at both the Winchesters in turn. “Okay… well, now that’s done. I’m sure you both have better things to do than gawk. Am I allowed to read the books in here?”

They both nod, not seeing the harm in it, and his smile becomes a touch more genuine. “Great! Then, if you don’t mind…” He turns on his heel, heading towards the nearest bookcase to find something that catches his interest.

The Winchesters and Castiel don’t linger much longer, each following suit and busying themselves with distractions of their own. Sam stays in the library with Lucifer, at the table with his laptop whereas the Devil stays curled up with an enormous book in one of the cushier reading chairs. Castiel takes away the dish of blood and the feather quill, and doesn’t return to the room. Dean follows him out, going to his room and not returning to the library.

The Library is silent except for the occasional turn of a page, and the soft clicking of Sam’s mouse and keyboard. But it’s far from a comfortable silence. The room’s two occupants are both highly aware of the other’s presence, tension filling the air as each man waits for the other to speak first.

Eventually, it’s Sam who breaks the awkward silence, giving up on trying to get any work done. “Penny for your thoughts?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand, another chapter that ends in a question mark. I count 3/4. Is this gonna become a trend? who knows???
> 
> Tell me what you lovely people think so far!


	5. Lost Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it was before shall it ever ever be  
> Hear it on the crying wind  
> Heart it weeping on the sea  
> Through the winder valley wild and through the darkest night  
> Here comes the evil news of the coming fight  
> So love bring your birds bring your feathers of peace  
>  **All through the storm let the tides release**  
>  Love bring your birds bring your feathers of peace  
>  **All through the storm let the tides release**  
>  \- Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning: Mentions of past rape in this chapter.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> You're welcome to ask me in a comment, on skype (NerdaliciousMelizza), or Kik (BabeCallMeMel) for a summary of what goes on in this chapter, and I will gladly accommodate you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Lucifer is tempted to snap back that he’s not that cheap, but he knows it’s an expression, and he’d rather not antagonise Sam any more than necessary. “… on?”

“All this,” the taller man responds, closing his laptop and turning around to watch the blonde whose eyes are still firmly glued to his book. “Becoming human, the guardian thing, Kevin, anything. You’ve just been… really quiet.” That’s an understatement, Sam thinks. All throughout the time he’s known the devil, it’s been all but impossible to shut him up. He talks like he just enjoys hearing the sound of his own voice.

While he lived up to Sam’s expectations on that staircase… he’s gotten less and less talkative the more time he spends here at the bunker. It’s screwing with Sam’s perception of him, and now Sam just wants it to stop, because not hearing him chatter on is freaking him out more than the inane running commentary he kept up near-constantly while Sam was hallucinating him ever did.

The fallen archangel nods slightly, finally closing his book and looking up. If Sam wants to reach out and be friendly for once… Well, Lucifer isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “I thought it best. My mouth has gotten me into trouble more times than I can count.”

Sam gives a soft huff of amusement at that. “I bet.”

Tapping the edge of his book distractedly, Lucifer mimics Sam’s amusement with a smile of his own and nods again. It’s not easy to force it; the memory of just how _much_ trouble his mouth got him into is still fresh in his mind. “I’d rather not think about ‘the guardian thing’, as you so eloquently put it. How about Kevin? He’s a great kid. He told me how he met you already, do you want to know how we ran into each other?”

That’s not the subject Sam expected Lucifer to choose, but then again, the devil hasn’t been acting exactly how Sam expects him to lately. “Yeah, you said something about Michigan?”

“Yes.” Lucifer’s hand goes to his neck, absently pulling the chain out so he can finger the ring looped onto it. “Rowena left me somewhere in Michigan, on the west side. I started heading East, and when I realised I was getting closer to Detroit, I kept heading that way. I didn’t really know what I was doing, and Detroit just felt… right, kind of. I figured I could find a car there that wouldn’t be missed.” Detroit, where Sam said yes to him. If he found what he needed there once, then why not a second time?

“I didn’t ever get any farther than Neighbour, a suburban town just outside the city. I hitchhiked with a serial killer, fancy that.” He smiles at Sam, who’s watching him with rapt attention and a little incredulity. “He was an amateur. I left him zip-tied to his car.”

The hunter rolls his eyes. “Why didn’t you kill him?”

“I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I didn’t have a gun, so it would have been way too messy. I didn’t want to walk around with bloodstains on my shirt.” Lucifer shrugs, still fingering the well-worn ring on his necklace. “And he wasn’t going to tell anybody. What would he even say? ‘Oh, the hitchhiker I tried to kidnap and murder knocked me out and tied me to my car, officer. Arrest him.’ He probably thought I was crazy anyways; I told him I was Satan.”

“Why’d you tell him who you are?” Sam’s now engrossed in this story, brows pulled together.

Lucifer is happy to oblige with more details, enjoying recounting his experiences as a human. “I’d been telling people I was ‘Lou’ all day, and I was getting sick of it. It was a kind of ‘spur of the moment’ thing, you know? I just _said_ it.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam gestures for him to continue. “Right, so you kicked the serial killer’s ass, but what does that have to do with Kevin?”

“I’m getting there,” Lucifer smiles before continuing, “I couldn’t take _his_ car, or he’d really have a reason to go after me. I didn’t want a black truck anyways. So I started to head back to the centre of town, and on the way there I saw a car abandoned at the lot in front of a closed down Gas’n’sip.” Lucifer explains how the car fit what he was looking for, and tells Sam how he got it unlocked and slept there for the night.

“And when I woke up, there was Kevin.” Lucifer lifts the ring up for Sam to see. “Damn near scared me half to death.” The devil shakes his head fondly, then continues. “Linda left this in the glove compartment, so he’d been stuck there for two years. When he saw me draw warding on myself, he figured that I was some kind of hunter or something, and asked me to help him out. I agreed to help him find his mom, and he agreed to help me stay safe from the people I was hiding from. Kevin saved my life more times than I care to count, and basically taught me how to be a human. He’s a good friend.” He smiles a little to himself, no longer looking at Sam as he remembers some of their crazier encounters.

Sam finds himself smiling too, imagining nerdy, awkward Kevin teaching Lucifer how to get around as a human. No wonder Lucifer didn’t realise what his shirt actually meant. “Kevin’s a great guy. I… miss having him around.” The thought is finished quietly, as guilt washes over Sam again. He objectively knows that Kevin’s death wasn’t his fault… but he feels like it was. Kevin, Charlie… both their deaths are his fault, not that either of them would ever blame him for it. They’d say they knew the risks, that they can handle themselves just fine, thank you. They’d tell him that he needs to stop wallowing in guilt, get over it, get off his ass, and kick butt for them.

“Me too.” The archangel sighs, tucking the ring back into his shirt. “It’s… a strange feeling, having a friend. I miss having him here, but… I’m glad that he’s in heaven. I’m glad he’s not stuck, or out of place anymore. He deserves to be happy.”

And there Lucifer goes again, being everything Sam doesn’t expect him to be. The hunter frowns slightly, eyeing Lucifer. He can’t be sure if Lucifer means that, or if he’s only saying it to make Sam think he’s changed. Well. He _has_ changed, that much is clear. But changing so much that he genuinely is happy that a human is in paradise, and not only that, but he enjoys Kevin’s company enough to openly admit to missing him? Sam is sceptical.

Lucifer has only been human for a little over two months, after all. People don’t change that much that fast. They just don’t. _Especially_ not the guy who held onto his hatred of humanity for billions of years. “… You don’t have to pretend to like humans. I don’t care what you think of us, it’s not going to make me dislike you any less.”

Ah, and there’s the hostility Lucifer’s coming to expect. Well, the friendly small talk was nice while it lasted. He sighs softly, clicking his tongue as he focuses on Sam again. “There you go again. Everything has to be about you, doesn’t it? Is it _so hard_ for you to believe that maybe I’m _not_ a soulless asshole who only knows how to hate? I have a temper, and a reputation, I get it. I’m not perfect, _no one_ is. But I’m not heartless.” He takes a deep breath, keeping his voice even as he continues. No sense in raising his voice and starting an argument.

“Kevin was kind to me. He’s funny, and smart, and he helped me through perhaps the hardest time in my life. I helped him find out what happened to his mother, and comforted him through the death of his mother. We’re _friends_. Furthermore, why would I _pretend_ to care about him if I didn’t? What do I gain from that? You’ve already agreed to let me stay, and I’ve already bound myself to you. I don’t care if you like me, anymore. I’ve already got what I need, I just have to follow your rules so I can keep it that way. Your opinion of me now is irrelevant.” He doesn’t need Sam’s approval anymore, and frankly, with what Sam’s become since the apocalypse? He doesn’t want it. Sam can keep ‘turning him down to the prom’ all he wants, Lucifer doesn’t care anymore.

That kind of hits Sam like a truck, realising that Lucifer is… right. Where’s the motivation for him to be friendly? Dean’s on his side, and so is Cass, and he’s already finagled his way into the bunker. And… Kevin seemed friendly enough with him last night, friendlier than he ever seemed while he was stuck translating the tablets for them here, if he’s being honest with himself. Nowhere did they stipulate that Lucifer is required to play nice with them, he just has to follow their rules, which he has done. Willingly, and without complaint.

And Lucifer didn’t initiate this conversation, Sam did.

It’s like a slap in the face, as Sam realises that what’s really bugging him about Lucifer is that the archangel is no longer bending over backwards to get his approval. Once upon an apocalypse, Lucifer had done everything in his power to earn Sam’s consent. He’d tried so _hard_ to get Sam to see him not as the devil, but as something more. And now that it doesn’t matter anymore, now that he doesn’t need Sam to say yes, Sam’s having a hard time seeing his words and actions without trying to figure out what the ulterior motive is behind them.

When Sam doesn’t say anything for a bit, Lucifer continues, tone less harsh than before. “… That isn’t to say I want you to keep disliking me. I know it’s… not easy for you. I’ve hurt you before, and I don’t expect you to get over what I did. But if I’m going to stay here, I’d like to try to remedy my past wrongs. I understand that Castiel took those memories from you, and I’m glad. I was angry, and rash, and I took out my frustration on you because you’re the one who put me back in the cage. It was childish, and I was wrong to do those things to you. I do hope though, that we can… move past that, in time. I don’t want my presence here to make you miserable.” His eyes are still focused on Sam, expression guarded. He’s preparing himself for another rejection, as it’s what he has come to expect from Sam.

The hunter lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head a little as he shoots Lucifer a look. ‘What do I do with you?’ his expression says. “That’s dangerously close to an apology, Lucifer,” Sam jokes tiredly, trying of think of a way to respond. “It’ll take a lot more than that to make up for what you did… but it’s a start.”

The archangel-turned-human looks surprised by the almost-acceptance, and then he smiles back at Sam, obviously pleased. “Everything has to start somewhere, I suppose.”

They’re both quiet after that… but this time the silence isn’t so awkward. Sam might even go so far as to say it’s a comfortable silence, as Lucifer keeps reading his book, and Sam keeps looking for a case.

 

* * *

 

Crowley didn’t leave them alone for long. As it gets close to lunchtime, Dean comes into the library with Cass in tow. Apparently the demon has been texting him nonstop since that morning, demanding that he comes out of the bunker and speaks with him.

“We should go deal with him,” Sam suggests, drumming his fingers on the table. Notably, Lucifer hasn’t said a word since Dean entered the room, but he’s been paying very close attention to their conversation. “He’s not going to let this go until we do.”

“Uhh…” Dean and Cass share a look with one another. “We know. Cass and I kinda already said we’d go out and talk to him. We kinda figured it’d be best for just us to go. Someone needs to stay here with Lucifer, and you’re not exactly Crowley’s favourite person…”

The taller man shoots Lucifer a look, and then turns back to his older brother, expression strained. Dean’s right though, Sam going won’t make it any easier to get rid of Crowley. And both Castiel and Dean are perfectly capable of fighting Crowley if the need arises. “… Yeah, okay. You guys go ahead; I’ll hold down the fort.”

Dean nods apologetically, but it’s Cass who speaks. “We’ll be back soon, Sam. I apologise for having to leave you two alone, I know your relationship is… difficult.” His apology is said as much to Lucifer as it is to Sam, and both nod to him in acknowledgement. Castiel directly addresses his brother then, tone solemn, serious. “Please, don’t give Sam a reason to shoot you.”

Lucifer smiles a little, unable to take him completely seriously. “Don’t worry about me, little brother. I’ll be an angel.” The smile is gone quickly though, replaced with worry, and maybe a touch of vulnerability. “Be careful. Crowley is underhanded, and powerful… Come back safe.”

The younger angel nods, looking unworried. “I’ve dealt with him before, brother. It will be fine. I promise.” He hesitates, looking almost like he wants to say—or do—something else, and then just turning to Dean. “No sense in keeping him waiting; let’s get going.”

The hunter nods, patting Sam on the shoulder as he walks past. “See ya, bitch.”

“Whatever, Jerk.” The younger rolls his eyes, watching his brother and friend walk towards the garage together.

Again, silence blankets the library.

Sam is distracted, and he keeps glancing over at Lucifer to make sure he’s still there. The angel hasn’t moved, and after a few minutes, Sam realises that he hasn’t turned a single page in his book since the other two left.

When he realises this, he spares Lucifer more than just a quick glance, trying to read his posture and expression. He’s looking at the book still, but his eyes aren’t moving, just locked in one place on the page. His brow is furrowed, and Sam guesses that he’s just deep in thought.

Eventually, the hunter can’t take it anymore, and he breaks the silence. “You’re freaking out again.” The blonde’s eyes snap up to him, and before he can deny it, Sam cuts him off with a shake of his head. “It’s because you’re worried Crowley is gonna offer them something better and turn you over, right? That’s not gonna happen, trust me.”

“How can you be so _sure_?” Lucifer responds, tone strained as he attempts not to sound as worried as he is.

The hunter pushes a few stray strands of hair from his face. “Dean’s not an asshole, that’s how. And he trusts Crowley about as far as he can throw him. They’ll deal with him, and you’ll be fine. Chill.”

The devil sighs to himself, not sounding terribly convinced. He bookmarks his page, and then closes the book again, setting it aside, and then draws his knees up to his chest, hugging them. “I’m trying to. But I’m just worried… what if he hurts them? Or kidnaps Dean and holds him hostage with me as the ransom? I don’t… I can’t…” He clams up after that, hugging his knees a little tighter, and cursing his weakness.

Sam has… _never_ seen Lucifer this vulnerable, this scared before. It’s kind of unnerving, but at the same time… Sam finds himself empathising.

He takes a moment, waiting for Lucifer to calm down a little bit. “Dean and Cass are tough, and they’re smart. Crowley would be stupid to try that, and if he did, he won’t get you. We’ll just go rescue them.”

Lucifer still doesn’t look fully convinced, so Sam continues. “Relax… Hey, I don’t know what Crowley did to you, but he can’t get in here. You’re fine, okay? Dean and Cass will be back before you know it. Promise.” It feels weird, comforting Lucifer, but he can tell his words are having an effect on the other man. He could see Lucifer trying desperately to hide it, but he’s scared out of his mind.

Sam thought he wanted to see Lucifer scared. He thought it would give him a sense of vindication… but he was wrong. This… this isn’t what he wanted. It’s almost painful to see someone so strong, so powerful, now terrified for his life.

Silence reigns again as Lucifer fights to calm himself. Sam’s right, Dean’s been so nice to him, and Castiel wouldn’t let Crowley take him back. They’ll come back just fine.

Eventually, Sam can’t help it anymore, he _has_ to ask. “Hey… You know, we can’t help you if we don’t know what happened to you. Why does Crowley freak you out so much? You were never afraid of him before.” Sam’s starting to really think Dean is right; he can see the signs too. And… whatever Lucifer did to him in the cage, he never went that far. Sex shouldn’t be used as a weapon, and Sam’s horrified to think that they’ve worked so closely with someone who would use it that way.

Shaking his head, Lucifer draws his knees closer to himself. “Now’s not… I don’t want to talk about it.”

He can see that Lucifer is sincere, but Sam’s convinced that talking about it will help him, so he keeps pushing. “Talking will help, Lucifer. Tell me what he did to you.”

The blonde’s shoulders tense up, and he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Not now… I’m not…”

“Lucifer.” Sam’s tone isn’t harsh, but it’s not gentle either. His words aren’t quite an order… but it’s a close thing. “Tell me.”

There’s a change in Lucifer’s posture at that, and in the span of a second, the vulnerability is gone. He’s guarded again, closing himself off from Sam. But he doesn’t try to get out of talking about it anymore.

This can be a good thing, he tells himself. Sam seems more receptive to him now… maybe he can earn Sam’s sympathy with this?

Lucifer had wanted to draw it out a little longer (despite what he told himself before, he’s since realised he actually _doesn’t_ want to say what happened to him… honestly that shit will probably give him nightmares for a while yet), but if Sam’s going to insist, then this can work just as well for him as keeping his torment a mystery would.

Probably.

Lucifer takes a deep breath, and then shoots Sam half a glare, not holding back his feelings on this subject. Normally, one would think that to manipulate people, you should never show how you truly feel. But in some cases, the truth hits harder than any lie could, and that’s what Lucifer does now, as he braces himself to speak of what befell him.

Sam can sense the change in him, and he starts to wonder if maybe pushing Lucifer wasn’t the best idea. He almost backs down, but he can tell that Lucifer’s about to confess… and morbid curiosity gets the best of him.

“You want to know what happened? … I’ll… fine, I’ll tell you.” Lucifer’s voice is still painful to hear; it’s not as bad as it was yesterday, but still raspy and quiet from abuse, both at Crowley’s hands and the Winchester’s neglect. “Your _friend_ threw me around like a ragdoll… He taunted me, made me stay on my hands and knees at his feet. He kicked the ever-living shit out of me, and choked me until I couldn’t see straight. He tortured me, because he’s a demon and that’s what demons do best. And when I didn’t fall to my knees and beg for mercy, when I let my thrice-damned smart mouth get the better of me, he shut me up. He…”

Lucifer swallows dryly, unable to form the words for a moment. “He choked me with…” He can’t get the words out, they’re choking him, just as Crowley himself did. But Lucifer has started now, and he doesn’t intend to stop until he’s said it all. He has to _prove_ to himself that he _can_ talk about this, that’s not weak.

“… with his…” Lucifer shuts his eyes, hands fisting on his knees. “He made … Made me choke down his _cock_ … he… nearly killed me doing so. I… I can still feel the fucking thing, and he’s huge, you know? Because of-fucking-course he is, the self-enamoured bastard.” Lucifer is starting to lose control of himself, he can feel it. The words are coming of their own accord now, and he fights the show of weakness that is tears stinging at his eyes. He stares at his knees, voice quieter now as he recounts what happened to him. “I bit him. That’s all I _could_ do to fight back. He ripped my teeth out for it.” He roughly hooks a finger over his lip, pulling it down to show Sam the burned-over gap he’d seen earlier. “And he just… kept going. And going.”

He glances up, and then quickly turns his eyes back downward so he doesn’t have to see Sam’s stunned look. “He made me lick myself clean. Like a fucking cat. That’s what he called me. His kitten. You heard on the phone. It wasn’t bad enough that I had to take it from him, I had to clean myself up, put on a show for him, while he sat in his damn chair and watched.” Lucifer is rapidly losing control of the situation, and while he knows he’s said enough to make his point already, he pushes on, unable to stop the tide of words and emotions, and the tears that come with them.

“Did I mention I was a virgin? You should know, Sam. There’s not much room for anything but torment and loneliness in the cage.” He swallows, forcing himself to look back up at them again. “But you want to hear everything, right? See if the Devil finally got what he deserved, right? Who cares if my first time was against my will, if I was forced by a demon and his dog. I’m just Satan. I had it coming. Have you ever been fucked by a hellhound? No? It… It fucking _hurts_ , like nothing you’ve ever felt. And it doesn’t care that you’re bloody and screaming under it, it just keeps going.” Lucifer forces himself to stand up and grabs the back of his shirt, lifting it up so Sam can see his back, and the pattern of bruises by his hips, and the gashes on his back where the hellhound had dug its claws into him as it came. “It was ‘keep your hands on that damn table and take it, or go to Hell.’ He made me choose, like there was any choice in the first place.”

He drops his shirt, wincing slightly from the ache of it. “I prayed for mercy, and he just laughed. I only barely managed to stay conscious long enough to draw the banishing rune. And… wallah, here I am. You know the rest.” His voice dies out at the end, not that it was ever particularly strong as he spoke. His throat is still pretty raw, and even though he’s had water and rest since, it hasn’t gotten all that much better. He’s a lot quieter as he finished. “There. You wanted to know, so there you go. Happy now?”

If Lucifer could storm out of the room, he would do so now. But he neither has the inclination nor the energy to try it. Anyways, where would he go? This is the only place he’s safe now, so there’s no point in leaving now that he’s here.

“I— No, Lucifer…” Sam starts, and then stops, frozen in place. He’s honestly torn, between wanting to just leave, and wanting to apologise for pushing. He’s going to be sick. Somehow he just _knows_ Lucifer isn’t lying, or even just exaggerating. He’s never heard Lucifer struggle so much to speak, and the other man just looks so shaken up, so _haunted_ by his experiences… “—I’m… I didn’t…”

The large man struggles not to retreat, knowing that this is in part, his fault. Lucifer asked him not to push, and he did anyways. “I’m sorry.” The words aren’t enough, but Sam doesn’t know what else to say, what else to _do._

Lucifer rubs his eyes, cringing a little as the salty liquid mixes with the open wounds on his wrist. He _really_ needs to stop crying. He has a reputation to uphold, here. “It’s … It’s not your fault, Sam.” He takes a deep, shaky breath, but it doesn’t help much. “… To be fair, I chained him up and collared him, like a dog. And I made him lick the floor of Hell’s throne room clean. For funsies.” The devil’s reply is deceptively mild, but even he knows all that isn’t as bad as what Crowley did, was planning to do. There’s a certain line, an unwritten code, and Lucifer respected it. Crowley didn’t.

There’s a little something called integrity, which even Hell has. All forms of torture, physical or psychological, are all on the table. But there’s just something about rape, the sex trade, human trafficking… it lacks _class._ It’s low-hanging fruit, and while horrible, and effective, it’s generally seen as below Hell’s standards. Part of Hell’s charm is that it manages to be worse while keeping a certain base level of pride. Hell has _standards._

Unless you go to hell because you’re a rapist, or a human trafficker, or an abusive pimp. Then, all bets are off.

After all, in Hell the punishment is meant to reflect the crime.

Not that Lucifer’s punishments have _ever_ had the decency to fit his crimes.

Another tense silence falls, with both men standing now, Lucifer having bared himself to Sam. Why, _Why_ does he keep folding, for this one, particular human? Sam’s never cared about him, never given him the benefit of the doubt, so why does he keep trying, so damn hard?

It doesn’t last very long. Sam struggles with himself, trying to think of a way to fix this. Dean and Cass left, asked them to play nice, and the first thing he does is antagonise Lucifer into… into this.

He just… He looks so fragile, so hurt, and finally, Sam’s heart goes out to him.

Whatever Lucifer did before, he didn’t deserve that.

Sam recovered from the cage, and now it’s his turn to help Lucifer recover from his own haunting memories.

Before Lucifer can react, Sam’s crossed the space between them in three steps, and gently wrapped his arms around the smaller man.

The archangel stiffens in his embrace, fearing the contact at first. But when Sam does nothing more than hold him, careful not to press on his back… Lucifer relaxes. With a sound halfway between a sob and a sigh, he leans into Sam’s broad chest, letting Sam be strong for him. His hands come up to grab the front of Sam’s flannel, and he presses his forehead into Sam’s chest, letting all the stress, fear, and hurt from the past two days finally catch up to him, and he lets it all out.

Sam says nothing to him, not wanting to lie and say everything is going to be alright, and knowing Lucifer wouldn’t appreciate the empty promises anyways. For enemies, they both understand one another so well, and Sam knows what Lucifer needs right now isn’t someone to talk to, or someone to tell him what he wants to hear. What Lucifer needs is someone to just hold him, and _stay_. Someone to watch him fall apart, and to help him pick up the pieces in the aftermath.

Right now, Lucifer just needs someone to understand him.

Lucifer needs Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked that! I think it's about time that Sam and Lucifer came to an understanding.
> 
> Luci really needed a hug, and who better to give it than big ol' softie moose? ;u;
> 
> Also, we've reached 100 comments and 50 kudos! And we're only 5 chapters in? That's... man, that's kind of a big deal for me. Thank you all so much! I'm so glad you're all interested enough to read this random thing! <3
> 
> Y'all have no idea how badly I wanted to put in an April Fool's Chapter. Like. I was going to be so mean, I'm not even kidding. Y'all would have actually hated me. People were gonna die and shit.  
> But, I decided against it for the sake of not being a total asshole.  
> And also, I really like this Chapter, so I'm _dying_ to know what you guys think of it.  <3


	6. Mr. Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Crowley, what went on in your head?  
> Oh, Mr. Crowley, did you talk to the dead?  
> Your life style to me seemed so tragic  
> With the thrill of it all  
> You fooled all the people with magic  
> Yeah, you waited on Satan's call  
> \- Ozzy Osborne

“Hello Bo—” Crowley arches an eyebrow as not Sam and Dean, but Dean and Castiel get out of the impala. “Changing it up today? Miracles never cease.”

Dean doesn’t know why he ever puts up with this demon. “Cut the crap, Crowley. You called us here, what do you want?”

‘Here’, is a dead parking lot on the edge of town, across the street from a local grocer. There’s one car in the lot, and Dean gets the impression that it hasn’t moved in over a year. It’s an open area, which thankfully means there aren’t places for demons to hide and ambush them—not that they need to be nearby for an ambush. The empty, deserted feel of the meeting place puts both angel and hunter on edge.

“To make a deal, of course,” the Scotsman begins suavely. “You have something I want, and I’m a powerful man with many things; I’m sure we can come up with something you want just as badly.”

Before he even finishes, Castiel has stepped forward and drawn his blade. “We won’t give Lucifer to you, Crowley. He’s under our protection.” His words are practically growled, obviously expecting Crowley to argue with him. “If that’s all you want, then we’re done here.”

“Uh-uh-uh…” The king of hell wags a finger at the two of them, a confident smirk on his face. “Come now, you haven’t even heard my offer. Lucifer is a problem, one which I’m offering to take care of for you. You don’t have to worry about him regaining power—and I get to secure my position in hell, permanently. Win-Win. Problems solved all around. And, you lot can get a bonus out of it. How does Lucifer’s staff sound? I can get you Lucifer’s grace from mother dear; I wager that would do dear Cassie an awful lot of good. Might even get you your wings back, angel. And then some.” He winks, expression still smug. “Or what about the Colt? I know you boys have been looking for that fancy little trinket, and I just so happen to know who has it. Does _that_ tickle your fancy?”

The Colt—The gun that can kill all but 5 things in all of creation. Now that… that would be nice to have back. But seeing the confident, smarmy look on Crowley’s face, the glint of malice hidden in his eyes… Dean can’t in good conscience consider anything he offers. He brings to mind an image of Lucifer from this morning, the scars and bruises littering his back. The strained look of pain on his face, and the fear and humiliation he tried to hide, but couldn’t quite manage to.

And that’s all he needs.

Dean steps up to Castiel’s side, looking on the demon with a fair amount of dislike. “Not a chance, Crowley. Lucifer isn’t a problem anymore—He’s a person. And last I checked, my job description includes saving people, and that includes ganking you if I have to.”

“A person?” The King of Hell splutters, “are you mad? He’s the bloody Devil! He rode your brother’s pert ass to the apocalypse, and given a shot, he’d do worse!”

“He’s my brother.” Castiel’s voice is cold, and his eyes blaze with poorly veiled hatred; he’s still upset over Crowley’s sabotage of his car, and abandonment of him in the race to find Lucifer. “You could offer us Hell and it wouldn’t be enough. We’ll never hand him over to you.

Angel and Demon meet each other’s eyes with identically heated glares, and before it can devolve into fighting, Dean steps between them, pushing Cass back a little as he forms a barrier between them. “Cool your jets, you two. Crowley, Lucifer isn’t on the table. The only reason I agreed to meet is to work out some kind of agreement to get you off his back.”

So, despite his suspicions, and his ‘you-disgust-me’ attitude towards Crowley… Dean’s still got a bit of a soft spot for the demon. He doesn’t want to believe that Crowley did the things that Dean suspects he did to Lucifer, because they’ve worked together before. Crowley has helped them, multiple times. And while he’s slimy, evil, and generally _demonic_ … He’s also been a friend of theirs, and the Winchesters don’t have many of those. “He’s under our protection… but that doesn’t mean we have to be enemies.”

The king of Hell’s eyes narrow in response. “I’m afraid it does. Consider this your warning, Dean.” And the next second, he was gone from sight.

With a sigh, Dean turns around to get back into the impala. “Well, that was a great big waste of time…”

Castiel pats his shoulder before going to the passenger side door. “At least now we know where he stands, and Sam and Lucifer can’t have gotten into too much trouble while we were gone.”

“Hopefully.”

 

* * *

 

When Dean and Cass got back to the bunker (they decided to make a supply run while they were out, too), it was to find Sam and Lucifer no longer in the library. They’d found their way to the rec/common area, sitting on the couch together and watching TV. Or rather, Sam was watching TV; Lucifer was out cold on the other side of the couch, head resting on his arm, and legs curled up between himself and Sam.

Again, Dean was struck by how… relaxed he looked. He’s so used to seeing Lucifer being expressive, guarded, choosing every thing he says and every expression he makes so carefully. To see him without all that, to see behind all the layers he puts up… it’s kind of jarring.

But not… in a bad way.

He wishes he could see Lucifer look that at peace and untroubled with his eyes open.

Dean announces his presence with a laugh, watching as Sam turns to face him, and Lucifer jolts awake, confusion clouding his face as he figures out where he is, and what’s happening. He glances at the clock, and then huffs unhappily. “Shit, I fell asleep. Is that Joffrey guy dead yet?”

“What makes you so sure he’s gonna die?” Dean laughs, realizing Sam was showing Lucifer Game of thrones. They’re still on Season One, as the screen tells him when Sam pauses it.

The devil rolls his eyes, stretching his arms above him. “On TV, the bad guys _always_ die. Duh.”

Then, Sam laughs too, shaking his head. “If that’s what you think, you’re in for a lot of disappointment, Lucifer.” He turns to his older brother, still smiling. “Wanna watch with us?”

Seeing the way that they’re interacting now, Dean wonders what changed. Before, every word between them was hostile, both men trading comments and accusations like gunfire. But now… Lucifer seemed more relaxed, if not completely at ease. And Sam didn’t look so uncomfortable anymore. You’d never know he was just watching Game of Thrones with Satan himself.

“Yeah, in a sec,” Dean nods, tucking his car keys into his back pocket, “I wanna talk about Crowley first.” He walks around the couch, sitting on the coffee table so he can face Lucifer. As he says the demon’s name, he watches the blonde man stiffen, and glance at Sam, who’s paying attention to Dean and doesn’t see the look.

The expression crosses Lucifer’s face so quickly that Dean almost misses it, but he knows he didn’t imagine the fear there. Lucifer doesn’t trust them not to hand him over, he realizes sadly.

Well, hopefully he can fix that. “He’s not getting you back, Lucifer. You can relax. He tried to trade us for you, and the whole meeting was bullshit. He was just wasting our time.”

“The only thing remotely worth considering trading for was the location of the colt, and we’d still rather keep you from him than have that, brother. It wasn’t even a contest, I assure you.” Castiel makes his way to the couch as well, sitting between Lucifer and the arm of the couch. He gently pats his brother on the back. “Like I said before, you’re safe here.”

But Lucifer’s not quite paying attention, his brows drawing together at the mention of the colt. “That old thing? Shit, I know this…” His fingers drum on his knee and he chews his lip until he looks up victoriously with a snap. “Yeah! Last I heard, Crowley gave it, and Michael’s Lance to Ramiel. I know, ‘cause Michael was _furious_ about it.”

Dean and Castiel look at each other, surprised and pleased. The hunter shakes his head with another smile. “Like he said, no contest. Do you know where this Ramiel guy is?”

“You _don’t_ wanna mess with him. That language I was talking about won’t work on him, he knows it. Anyways… He’s not all demon.” The blonde folds his hands in his lap to keep them from moving nervously. “He’s a Gregori, a prince of Hell. You met one before, remember Azazel?”

Sam’s eyes widen in surprise at the information. “Wait, there are _more_ yellow-eyed demons?”

“Three more, to be precise. Ramiel, Dagon, and Asmodeus. The four of them were like… my own kind of archangels.” He’s got their attention now, and it feels odd to finally have all three of them actually _listening_ to every word he says. “They became my adopted children. Hell was meant to be theirs in my absence.” Azazel was the favourite, of course, and the only one of his princes to participate in releasing him from Hell. The only of his children to remain loyal to him, through everything.

“So what happened to them?” Dean interjects, “They didn’t fight in the apocalypse… not that we noticed, anyways. And Crowley took the throne.”

The devil responds with a teasing tone to his voice. “Many things happened during the apocalypse that you did not notice. But, no. They didn’t fight for me. And they didn’t want Hell. They’ve… retired, so to speak. They didn’t believe in my vision anymore; not like Azazel did. Though… I may be taking a page out of their book, if I ever do get my power back. World domination is kinda cliché.” He shrugs, trying to remind them that he’s not who they saw in the apocalypse; not anymore. “They’re still incredibly powerful, however. And simply because they have chosen a path of non-aggression, does not mean that they won’t retaliate if you poke the bear. Leave them be. The colt is not the only way to kill powerful things, it’s not worth losing your own lives over.” And… they’re his kids. Even though they’ve left his side… he doesn’t want to see them end up dead, by some chance.

He doesn’t say that though, because they wouldn’t care anyways.

“So, Crowley tried to send us to our deaths, is what you’re saying.” Castiel’s voice is low, sounding upset. “How convenient for him; he gets you, and we all die.” His tone is deceptively mild, and the words carry a touch of sarcasm to them. Like the other two, his eyes remain glued to his brother, watching intently as Lucifer talks.

Shrugging again, Lucifer leans back a bit on the couch, as if it putting a little distance between the Winchesters and himself will lessen the intensity with which they are staring at him. “Perhaps; or perhaps he would have gotten it for you. I don’t know. But regardless… thank you for choosing me. I…” Lucifer stops, eyes shining with something Dean can’t quite place before he quickly looks down at his hands. “Just… thank you.”

It’s been a… _very_ long time since anyone has come to Lucifer’s defence. And while he knows that he made a deal for their protection… It still warms him to his core to know they chose him over Crowley. They have him bound, but he only has their word, and he appreciates that they’ve kept it, though they were under no obligation to. He hasn’t been protected, hasn’t _needed_ protection since… well before the fall. Since before the fight with Amara, the first time. After that, he was a warrior, a soldier, and he was looked up to. He didn’t need protection, because he was the protector. After Michael, he was the strongest thing in all of creation. After God, his sister, Death, and Michael, Lucifer was the strongest thing in all of _existence. Nothing_ could hurt him, surely.

But… He’d forgotten how good it felt to be cared for. To not be the only one watching his back. He can’t quite describe the powerful rush of gratitude he feels towards Dean and Castiel. Sam, too, for being his rock to lean against earlier today.

It’s almost like… being part of a family again. It’s not perfect, and they all have their differences, but he feels… accepted, and cared for (if not quite loved).

Lucifer has learned many things in his short time as a human, and first and foremost amongst those things is to be grateful for small miracles. He’s learned to appreciate the little things, and not just the big picture.

Strange, to be somewhere around 13 billion years old… and _still learning._

He isn’t the best at saying how he feels, but his gratitude is sincere, and both Castiel and Dean can tell he means what he says. The hunter smiles back at him, leaning forward to put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze a little. “Hey, this deal goes two ways, Lucifer. Crowley won’t ever get his hands on you again, we’ll make sure of it. This place is as safe as it gets.”

That sentiment sets the last of Lucifer’s nerves at ease, and he finally lets himself smile at them. Dean is amazed again, to see how different Lucifer looks with the stress gone from his features, and actual happiness showing on his face. It makes all his other expressions look… wrong, somehow. Like this is the state he should always be in.

Dean’s only ever seen one side of Lucifer: Angry. Carthage, Elysian Fields hotel, that weird time in 2014 that didn’t actually happen, Detroit, Stull Cemetery, the summoning Cage, the S.S. Bluefin, and finally, the last they saw of him before now, was when he and God were both staying here. And what all those things had in common… was conflict. Every time Dean had seen him; Lucifer had been on the defensive. He’d been attacked, provoked, insulted, hurt, shot at, ignored… and granted, he was at fault more often than not, but the fact remains.

Until they got him and God to talk their problems out, _that_ had been the first time Dean had seen him be anything but angry. And… to be honest, he didn’t seem so bad. And then Amara dragged him out of Cass, and they didn’t hear anything else about him until Rowena started going around, bragging about how she’d reduced Satan to nothing more than a mere human.

And more nothing. It was like he’d just disappeared off the face of the planet, leaving only hints and rumours behind that he was still out there.

Now here he is; worse for wear but still kicking. He showed up on their doorstep hurt, and asking for help, and since Dean let him walk through that door, he’s seen so many different sides to the archangel… He knows he’s only barely scratched the surface of what kind of person Lucifer is.

The angel looks like he has something to say, but then he ducks his head, covering his face with his elbow and starts coughing, violently. Castiel looks concerned as he puts a hand on Lucifer’s back, brows drawn together.

The coughing fit subsides after a few moments, and Lucifer comes back up, looking embarrassed. Before he can say anything though, Castiel puts a hand to his forehead, and his expression sets in worry. “You’re hot.”

The blonde’s ice-blue eyes twinkle with mirth as he responds. “You are too, Cassie, but we’re _brothers_.”

Dean finds it hard not to snort at the easy response, but Castiel’s disapproving look helps a little. “That isn’t what I meant. You’re running a fever.” At Lucifer’s blank look, he continues with a sigh, “You’re ill. Why didn’t you say you weren’t feeling well?”

The blonde shrugs as Castiel takes his hand back. “I didn’t notice.” No, between all the injuries and various other things he’s been focused on, Lucifer didn’t realise he’d caught something. It shouldn’t be surprising, really. With all said injuries and other things causing him stress, his immune system was bound to fail him. “I feel fine, Castiel. It’s only a cough.”

The younger angel didn’t seem appeased by Lucifer’s dismissal of his health. “For now. You should go drink some water, and get some more rest. Fevers never bode well for humans.”

The blonde rolls his eyes, standing up slowly. “Your concern is touching, little bro.” It is, really, and while he says the words with all his usual snark, there’s warmth there, too. “But yeah, water sounds like a good idea. I’ll be right back.”

Castiel watches him go, concern still evident on his face. When he’s gone, Dean turns to Sam. “So, what happened between you two?”

The younger Winchester’s expression clouds with guilt, and he looks back in Lucifer’s direction, though he can no longer see the man. “We… talked.”

“And?”

“You were right, Dean. Crowley raped him.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Castiel, and Sam realises that Dean didn’t share his theory with their friend. “Crowley did _what?”_ The angel’s expression is thunderous. If he’d known that, he might’ve tried to kill Crowley, instead of bargain with him. “How do you know, Sam?”

Again, guilt crosses the younger Winchester’s face. Dean is silent, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles are white. Sam brushes his long hair behind one ear, looking ashamed. “I… pushed him. He was freaking out because you two went to talk to Crowley, and I bugged him until he told me why he was so freaked out. It’s… guys, it’s really bad. Crowley made his hellhound… Those things are _huge_ , Dean… And he was a virgin… He couldn’t get through talking about it without…” Sam shakes his head, guilt still written across his face. “He’s okay now, but let’s try not to bring it up again. He kind of… had an emotional breakdown. I’ll tell you more later.”

Just then, they heard a loud sneeze from the kitchen, followed by a shouted “Crap!” from Lucifer. He comes back into the living room shortly after, pinching his nose. There’s blood on his fingers, and running down to his lips. The blonde doesn’t look hurt though; he mostly just seems embarrassed.

Castiel gets to his feet first, snatching the tissues off the coffee table as he makes his way towards his brother. “Lucifer? What happened?”

The older angel shifts on his feet, gratefully taking a few tissues and holding them to his nose. “I sneezed, and my nose just… started bleeding again.”

“Again?” Castiel hands him another tissue, and indicates that he should keep his head tilted back.

The blonde nods, doing as Castiel nonverbally suggested. “It was… uh, Crowley…” He swallows. “I thought he fixed it, though.”

“Why would he fix it?” Dean asks without thinking, and then continues when he sees the distressed look on Lucifer’s face. “You don’t have to answer that, it’s okay.”

When Dean backs off, Lucifer seems to relax a little bit, and he shakes his head slightly. “It’s … it’s okay. He… wanted me to clean myself up. Tongue-bath style, like a cat. But there was blood all over my face, so he stopped my nosebleed and gave me some kind of alcohol to wash it down with…”

Ah, so maybe that’s why he didn’t touch the beer Sam brought for him.

Lucifer takes a deep breath, and releases it a little shakily. He can do this, he tells himself. At least, it’s a little easier to talk about now, when he’s already told Sam everything, and the other man didn’t push him away.

His head is still tilted back, the mass of tissues still held against his nose. Castiel gently pulls his hand away, getting Lucifer’s attention. “I don’t have enough power to heal all your injuries, but I can heal your nose, if you’d like.”

The older brother nods, looking relieved at the change in topic. “Please do. It’s going to really suck if I spring a leak every time I sneeze.”

Rolling his eyes at the way Lucifer describes his condition, Castiel reaches out with two fingers to touch Lucifer’s forehead, healing his bloody nose and giving his immune system a boost, so he can hopefully overcome whatever illness he’s contracted a little more quickly. “Done; it shouldn’t start bleeding again. Better?” The minor healing didn’t take much out of Castiel, but he’s reluctant to do more… the rest of Lucifer’s injuries aren’t quite so simple, and the seraph isn’t sure he has the grace-power to fix the worst of them. At least none of them seem to be lethal, and Lucifer hasn’t expressed any desire to have them healed by angelic means.

Lucifer feels a rush of warmth, of peace, as Castiel’s grace washes over him; it only lasts a second, however. He nods, and then remembers to use his words. “Yeah, much better.” He folds up the tissues, wiping the last of the blood from his upper lip. “Thank you.”

That’s one injury of his healed, at least. He’s still got a long way to go before he can consider himself back in tip-top shape, but at least now he knows he’ll have the time for that. Here in the bunker, he’s safe, and now he’s got enough confidence in the Winchesters and his little brother to not fear that they’ll hand him over to someone worse.

And not only that, but he’s also cautiously hopeful that they don’t plan to hurt him, either. They’re… good people, and it seems that despite their history, they’re willing to show him a little kindness. He hadn’t dared to hope that he’d get this lucky, but it seems that maybe fortune is _finally_ on his side.

Castiel nods in acknowledgement of the thanks, and gently pats his brother’s shoulder. “You’re welcome.” And with the same hand, he turns Lucifer back towards the kitchen. “You still need water, and then you should go back to your room and rest.”

“I just slept, brother.” And Lucifer’s voice this time almost comically takes on a similar tone to a child telling his mother he’s not tired yet. “And I haven’t finished watching Game of Thrones.”

“There will be plenty of time for that,” the younger brother assures, sounding amused. “For now, you need to rest, and heal.”

The only response is a dissatisfied sigh; but the fact that he must do what they wish is still in Lucifer’s mind, and some rest really doesn’t seem like all that bad of an idea. In any case, he can just pick up his book from the library to read until he’s tired again. (Which shouldn’t take long; Lucifer has been tired more often than not as of late. It was a struggle even to drive all the way to the bunker the day before.)

“If you say so…” The devil grumbles his response, heading back to the kitchen to do as his brother recommended, while Sam and Dean remained silent, watching him.

Sam had been rather quiet around him ever since their talk… and now Dean seems to be a little more quiet too. Castiel has been staring at him with wide eyes full of sympathy, ever since he came back from the kitchen.

So, Sam probably told them part of what happened to him. Well. Cat’s out.

While he appreciates the kindness and the care… Lucifer almost wishes they didn’t know. It seems like Castiel, at least, thinks he’s even more fragile now than he did before. Lucifer is many things… but fragile is not, and never has been, one of them. It seems that he’ll have to work hard to prove to them that he’s more than capable of handling himself, and helping them too.

But… Maybe after he gets some more sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter's a little short, guys. I'm trying to figure out the best way to lead into the next plot point, still.
> 
> Don't forget to vote!


	7. Rock of Ages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drive me crazier, no serenade   
> No fire brigade, just Pyromania 
> 
> What do you want? What do you want?   
> I want rock'n'roll, yes I do   
> Long live rock'n'roll 
> 
> Oh let's go, let's strike a light   
> We're gonna blow like dynamite   
> I don't care if it takes all night   
> Gonna set this town alight  
> \- Def Leppard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe this video clip accurately sums up how I feel about this chapter, particularly the long-ass first scene:
> 
>  
> 
> [MyFeelings.vid](http://ytcropper.com/cropped/EG5915f5f476b3c)
> 
>  
> 
> I had an essay ready to tell you all about how frustrated I was with this chapter, but I was advised to keep it down to as little ranting as possible, so I decided the video was enough.
> 
> I apologise for the long wait, and I thank you for your patience. Updates should come once a week again. Not only was this chapter obnoxious to write because LUCIFER AND DEAN ARE MORONS WHO EAT THEIR FEELINGS, but Finals/my end of semester projects have been kicking my ass, and I now have a girlfriend who effectively distracts me from being productive 24/7.
> 
> You'll probably notice, but the first scene consists of a LOT of internal monologue, because every time I wrote a line of dialogue, I'd have to be like "Nooo, he wouldn't say that, it's too mushy." and I'd just turn it into a thought one of them has instead. becAUSE THEY'RE IDIOTS. ahem.
> 
> They're my idiots though. For now. I love them to bits. Even if they make me wanna jump off a bridge sometimes.

“Dude, you look like crap.”

“Thanks,” was Lucifer’s only response, trudging into the kitchen hours after everyone else had woken up. He rubbed his tired eyes as he looked for a mug.

The only reason Dean was still in the kitchen was because he’d volunteered to stay behind this time, while Sam and Cass went off to meet with Mary and discount James Bond. Lord only knows what the Brits want with Mom. Dean wasn't particularly interested, especially not since the Asa Fox thing.

So, he stayed back to hold down the fort. And, like he’s wont to do, Dean got hungry shortly after breakfast. “Did you get _any_ sleep?”

The answer isn’t immediate, as Lucifer is rather focused on getting himself the caffeine he so desperately needs. Once his mug is found, and the coffee maker has been started, he turns back to face Dean with a bit of a ‘what do _you_ think?’ look on his face. “… A little. Not much.”  He knows he got up late, so he’s a little surprised to see Dean still eating. “Did you sleep in?”

“Nah,” Dean stuffs a strip of microwaved bacon into his mouth, swallowing it before continuing. “I just got hungry again. Sam and Cass are out, so I figured ‘what the hell?’ You’re not gonna give me a hard time about eating healthy, right?”

As he’s about to respond, Lucifer starts coughing again, and Dean waits for the once-archangel to recover. “… Considering I’ve lived off of mostly fast food and things microwaved in a Gas’n’Sip for the past two months, I’m hardly in a position to judge.” His lips tilt up in a half smile as he heads towards the fridge to look for food. “Do you have more of that? It smells great.”

The response makes Dean smile, and he gets up from his seat since he’s closer to the fridge. “Sure do. It’s just in the meat drawer, I’ll show you.”

Their hands meet on the handle of the fridge in an awkward moment where they both intended to make it there first, and tied. Lucifer pulls his back quickly, gesturing for Dean to go ahead. Dean’s thrown, because for some reason, he expected Lucifer’s hand to be ice cold, but it was warm, warmer than his own, in fact.

Pulling the fridge open, he shakes off the unwarranted thought. When did he become such a girl? “They’re right in here, dude.” Dean grabs the bag of uncooked bacon out of the meat drawer, swinging the fridge closed. “I’ll show you how to cook it too.”

As he heads for the stove, Lucifer grabs his arm with a shake of his head. “Believe it or not, I do know how to read instructions. I am neither a child nor an invalid; I can make my own food, but thank you for the offer.”

Dean’s really not sure why he wants to help so badly. Maybe it’s the bits and pieces of Lucifer's story that Sam managed to recount to them yesterday. Maybe it’s the way he looks right now, after ‘sleeping’ for more than twelve hours, and yet Dean’s convinced that he’s about to faint at any second. Maybe it’s because he signed his life over to them, asking for so little in return. Whatever the reason, Dean shakes his head, looking Lucifer over critically. “Dude, I wasn’t kidding when I said you looked like crap. Just, go sit down, and let me make you something to eat before you keel over.”

As Lucifer reaches for the bacon, trying to just snatch it from Dean’s grasp, the hunter moves it out of the way, finding it laughably easy to do so. Lucifer’s motions are tired, and the expression he gives Dean is equally so. “Dean,” he starts, with forced patience, “I just have a fever. I’m not _dying_. I’m also at _least_ 13 billion years old. Consider it a matter of pride, but I won’t have you making my breakfast for me.”

“I get it; you’re old. Too bad.” The older of the Winchester Brothers’ tone is light, but stubborn as he responds. “If Sam or Cass were sick, I’d tell them the same thing.” And Lucifer is part of their team (their family) now, whether he wants to be or not. Winchesters look out for one another, that’s just how it is. “Go sit your ass down, Lucifer. Don’t make me tell you again.”

He receives an indignant glare in response. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Actually, I can.” It makes him feel guilty to use it, but it’s for Lucifer’s own good, Dean reminds himself, shooting the devil half a grin. “And I’m ordering you to let me help you out, kapische?”

 _Honestly_ , Lucifer gripes to himself, _Dean is worse than Raphael ever was_. At least with Raphael, before he learned to _properly_ heal other angels, he could just let the little guy wrap him up with a bandage or two when he got hurt or wasn’t feeling well, and that was it. There was none of this obnoxious… doing things for him.

And _why_ is he comparing Dean to one of his brothers?

In any case, Dean’s right. That binding makes Dean and Sam essentially the centre of his existence. He could ignore the ‘order’ but it would bug him for the rest of his existence, and honestly this argument is not worth that.

Rubbing his temple in annoyance, he concedes, letting go of Dean’s arm and moving past him towards the table. “You know, that’s not how this is supposed to work. I’m supposed to be _your_ guardian.”

The remark is met with a cocky, carefree grin from Dean. “Sorry, have you met me? Hi; Dean Winchester, I don’t give a damn.”

“Mmh.” The hum that leaves Lucifer’s throat is an odd mix of amusement and disapproval. He doesn’t respond immediately, instead picking a chair, turning it backwards, and mounting it like a horse. “Yes, I’ve noticed that little quirk of yours.” In fact, he admires it. Perhaps history might have gone differently if Lucifer knew how to care a little bit less. He’s only learned to let things go very recently, and since he has, life has been significantly more enjoyable. His past offences haven’t been quite forgiven… but for now at least, they’re forgotten. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two from this particular human. “Only you, Dean Winchester, would drive into the apocalypse blaring Rock of Ages. Only you.”

The hunter can’t help but smile a bit at the reminder. He’d believed it would be the end of him, and nothing was going to stop him from going out to the tune of a good rock song. Nothing. Now, it seems a little silly. But then, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. “Says the guy who wanted to cage fight to disco music.”

“It was a good song,” the devil replies defensively, folding his arms on top of the back of his seat.

“Dude, it’s a love song.”

“That doesn’t make it _bad_.” The roll of his eyes is practically audible. “Don’t judge my taste in music, and I won’t judge yours, _cassette tapes_.”

It’s easier than Dean thought it would be, to just fall into friendly banter with the devil himself. He finds himself still smiling, and is gratified to see the expression mirrored on Lucifer’s face as well. “My cassette tapes rock, and you know it. Anyways, that’s not what I was getting at. You said something about ‘ambiance’, and then put on a lovesong. Is there something I should know, man?” Dean’s brows wiggle as he teases the blonde.

He receives a scoff in response, before Lucifer drops his chin onto his arms with a yawn. “As if. You’re reading into it too much, Deano; I just liked how the song started.”

“Suuuure.” The hunter’s eyes shine with amusement before he sobers a little with the reminder that Lucifer is still far too tired for someone who supposedly slept for over half a day. “You said you didn’t get much sleep; what kept you up?” Dean has a pretty good idea of what it was, but it doesn’t add up with how well he slept the night before, so he’d like to ask anyways.

Again, the answer isn’t immediate, though Lucifer’s expression gives Dean no indication that the subject bothers him. “I’ve had a… very trying past few days. And… sleep has rarely brought me good dreams.” Of all the things Lucifer misses about being a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, not requiring sleep is the perk he misses the most. It eats up so much time that he could be doing something more productive, and it’s not even always pleasant. Sometimes he doesn’t even feel rested afterwards, like now. It’s all very frustrating to him.

Dean understands nightmares. He’s had more than his fair share, so he definitely sympathises with that. But… “You slept fine yesterday, though.” And yesterday, all the awful stuff Crowley did to him was freshest in his mind… so what gives?

He half-expects Lucifer to snap at him, but the once-archangel just sighs from his place at the table. “I had Kevin, yesterday. He… helps.” And when he passed out while watching Game of Thrones, he had Sam nearby. It seems that just by virtue of having someone he knows near him helps keep his nightmares at bay… but he knows better than to ask for something so… childish.

 _Children_ crawl into their parents’ or siblings’ beds when they have nightmares, and Lucifer is no child. It sucks, but he knows they’re only dreams, so he’ll just have to suck it up and try to get whatever sleep he can between the terrors.

“Maybe Cass—”

“No,” the tone Lucifer uses brooks no room for further argument. The effect is a little dampened, however, by how he immediately follows it up with a short coughing fit. “… I’ll not bother Castiel with this. They’re just nightmares. They’ll pass.”

“If you say so…” Dean’s almost done with the bacon, not that he had to do much for it. He prefers it microwaved, and hopefully Lucifer agrees. He’s not going to push Lucifer any further this morning though. Dean already feels guilty about using the guardian bond against him once, even if it was in order to help him.

Though, that doesn’t mean he’s not gonna ask Cass about it later.

After that, the conversation turns to less personal topics, as both men have had more than their fill of talking about their feelings for the morning. They have their bacon, and Lucifer makes himself eggs and toast too, with Dean nearby helping him, but not doing it for him this time. He sensed that a second order wouldn’t go over as smoothly as the first did, which is to say; not.

Lucifer feels much more like himself once he’s had coffee and put some food in his belly. The fever is still kicking his ass, of course, but at least now he doesn’t feel like he’s about to nod off at any moment.

They’d fallen into a comfortable silence, with Dean waiting for Lucifer to finish his food. The hunter didn’t have anything better to do, after all. “So… what kind of movies have you seen?” Dean stands up as Lucifer finishes, taking both their plates.

Lucifer grabs the mugs, following Dean to the sink. “Personally? Only one. Kevin asked me to take him to watch Rogue One when he saw it was out. Though effectively, I’ve seen every movie that Nick, Sam, Castiel, Jimmy, and Vince Vincent have.”

“And?” Dean’s brow quirks up at him, prompting him to elaborate.

“… and what?”

“Which ones do you like? Got a favourite?”

With a roll of his eyes, Lucifer sets the mugs into the sink. “Yeah. Rosemary’s baby. Take a wild guess why.”

“Have you always been this bad at lying? C’mon, if you don’t tell me for real, I’m gonna assume it’s The Room.”

Lucifer pulls a face at that, giving a huff of distaste. “Definitely not that one. Why do you think I’m lying?”

“Please,” Dean starts rinsing off the dishes, electing to look at them rather than Lucifer. He’s not sure why exactly, he just kinda _knew_. The same way he knows when Sam’s bullshitting him. But that sounds dumb, and too much like a line from a cliché chick flick, so he comes up with another reason. But ‘Dude, you like disco music, you took a ghost to go watch a Star Wars movie, and you make as many old eighties references as I do. You totally have to have better taste than Rosemary’s Baby.’ Sounds just as cheesy and chick-flick-y as the other thing. Eventually, he settles on something that’s less girly. “Dude, I'm Batman. I just _know_.”

“Pft. Well _excuse me,_ Dark Knight. Hate to burst your bubble, but you’re wrong. I’m not lying.”

“Bull. C’mon, just tell me what your favourite is; it can’t be _that_ bad.”

“It’s _not_ bad.”

“So you admit it’s not Rosemary’s Baby?”

Lucifer is silent, refusing to respond to the obvious goading.

“… I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours?” And, yeah, that sounded less weird in his head. Too late now.

A snicker comes from the blond beside him.

As Lucifer opens his mouth to tease him, Dean cuts him off. “Shut up, Asshole. It’s early.”

“It’s one in the afternoon, Dean.”

“Well, I just finished breakfast, so it’s early for me. Answer the damn question, would you?”

Lucifer considers mentioning that he already knows Dean’s favourite movie, courtesy of Sam, but decides against it, for the sake of getting this conversation over with. “If you say so. Fine, I like a film called 10 ½. It’s French.”

“Really? What’s it about?” Obviously, Dean hasn’t heard about it, not that Lucifer expected him to. It was something Nick had seen a long time ago. He’d gone to see it with the woman who would later become his wife… It wasn’t the best movie, but the young woman had been translating it to him the whole time, and that in itself had made Nick enjoy it.

Lucifer liked it for a different reason, however. Besides the fond memories Nick Monroe had attached to it, Lucifer didn’t need the translations to understand what Nick remembered of the film. “It’s about a kid in the foster system. He’s angry, and kind of violent, but this teacher takes him in and cares for him. He believes he can be redeemed. It’s… kinda sappy.”

The Winchester nods, not really sure how to follow that up. From the description… he can pretty much guess exactly why Lucifer connected with that movie.

He doesn’t have to say anything, as Lucifer picks up on his struggle and clears his throat. “I’m a sucker for happy endings. But, you said you’d tell me about your favourite movie in exchange?”

“Yeah, it’s Porky’s 2.” Dean admits his choice freely, not that it’s any secret. He’s glad for the prompt to move on. “It’s about a bunch of High School Drama kids who want to put on a Shakespeare festival with a Seminole kid playing Romeo, and they have to outsmart the County Commissioner, Bubba Flavel, and the KKK to make the show go on. It’s Awesome.”

Lucifer knows the one. He nods in response, to let Dean know he does. Dad knows Dean made Sam watch it with him enough times.

That’s kinda when it really hits him. He knows so much about Sam and Dean; certainly not _everything,_ of course, but he unquestionably knows a lot. Yet, they know little to naught about him. Even Castiel doesn’t know much about him, and they’re supposedly family. Sam knew only what propaganda Heaven had spread about him in his absence… but that was about it.

Maybe they’d be a little more open to trusting him if he told them a little more about himself. If he showed them that he could be… for lack of a better term, _human._

Maybe Dean might even trust him enough to make his own food without sabotaging the kitchen, or whatever he was afraid of Lucifer doing. Surely, if it weren’t for a lack of trust, Lucifer would have been allowed to make his own meal. Why would Dean want to make food for _him_ otherwise?

He steps back, letting Dean wash off their dishes. “It’s a good movie. Not one I’d expect to be _your_ favourite, though.”

The hunter shrugs, shooting him a smile over his shoulder. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for happy endings, too. And teens beating all the odds.”

“Fair point.” Beating all the odds is certainly the Winchesters’ thing. Lucifer leans back against the island counter, just watching Dean work for a second. “Do you mind if I take a look at the bunker’s warding when we’re done here? I wanted to see if I could do anything to bolster it.”

Dean takes a second to answer, and Lucifer assumes he’s debating about how much trust he wants to give him with this. “You sure you’re up to that? You looked pretty out of it earlier.”

“I appreciate the concern, Dean, but yes. I think I can handle a bit of painting without incident.” He knows he should probably lay off the sass, but he can’t help it. It hasn’t been even a day and he’s already fed up with being treated like an invalid, just because his temperature is running a little high, and he’s maybe a little worse for wear. He’s _fine_ , really.

Dean rolls his eyes at the dishes, as if they can sympathise with him. “Well, If you’re sure, I don’t see why not.” He leaves the now-clean plates and mugs in the drying rack, and dries his hands off with the towel hanging off the cupboard’s handle. “I’ll show you where it all is.”

“Lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sam didn’t expect Dean to want to go meet the Men of Letters with him, but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t hoped his brother would surprise him. Not even the promise of seeing their mom again had enticed him to go. (In fact, it had only made Dean want to stay even more, considering how ticked off he was with Mary at the moment.) At least Castiel had offered to go with him to watch his back…

They still weren’t on good terms with the Brits, but the new guys had at least refrained from kidnapping Sam again. So… so far so good?

When Sam tried to get ahold of Mary the day before, he’d succeeded. Apparently, the Men of Letters had asked for a chance to sit down and talk with her over lunch, and she in turn, asked if Sam was interested in being her back-up.

She’d admitted that she wanted to see her boys again, and that she didn’t trust this ‘Mick’ guy as far as she could throw him.

Sam had immediately agreed, but Dean had turned the offer down, saying that if she wanted to see them so bad, she knew where to find them. And in any case, somebody who knows the bunker needs to stay behind and keep an eye on their guest.

So, that left Sam and Castiel to drive three and a half hours out to meet Mary Winchester and Mick Davies at a diner in Omaha. And for once, Sam got to pick the music.

He’s not like his brother though, so he took Castiel’s opinions in mind, and they agreed to listen the country station, but keep the volume low so they could talk without it interfering. When Sam drives, it’s a democracy, not Dean’s Dictatorship.

“What do you think he wants?” They’d been dancing around the subject the entire drive, but now that they’re only a few miles away from their destination, Castiel finally built up the nerve to ask what’s been on his mind the whole time.

He gets a shrug in response. “Same thing he wanted last time? A couple other hunters have mentioned the whole ‘recruiting’ pitch these guys keep trying to sell.”

“I hope that’s all… I don’t trust them. They all sound like Crowley.”

That gets a snort from Sam. “Well, yeah, Cass. They’re from England.”

“No,” the angel shakes his head quickly, seemingly distressed that he’s not explaining what he means correctly. “They sound like… they’re always making business deals. Like they’re wording everything so they leave out the important things without actually lying. Like Crowley does.”

And yeah, Sam has to agree with that. He too, finds it difficult to trust people who sound like they’re constantly scheming. “I know what you mean. God help us if that’s the case… The last thing we need right now is an organisation full of Crowleys.”

“Exactly,” Castiel intones seriously. “I don’t trust their promises, and they make me wonder what the cost is for a monster-less America.”

“I’m right with you, Cass. I know first-hand what ‘the British method’ entails, and I don’t trust them one bit.” Sam stops the Impala at a light, and turns to look over at his passenger for a moment. “With any luck, we can just turn him down and head home with Mom; laugh about this over takeout.”

“You want to bring her back to the bunker?” Castel lifts a brow, surprised. Dean didn’t seem too happy to hear that Sam was going to meet with her, and then there’s the obvious problem with Lucifer being their temporary houseguest… If _he’d_ picked up on these things being an issue, surely Sam had, too?

Sam’s jaw was set stubbornly as he answered. “Yeah, she’s my _mom_ , Cass. And I don’t care what Dean thinks, she’s still family, and if she wants to come back with us, I’ll gladly bring her home. Maybe she’ll even help us out with Lucifer.” Sam thinks Mary would have been on his side the past couple days, but right now he actually means that she might have advice on how to help him. Sam hasn’t forgotten about the PTSD incident, and he knows that their dad shared the same ailment. Mary might know how best to handle/treat it, if she remembers how she helped John after his time in Vietnam.

Even if she doesn’t come back with them, she can at least give him some advice on the subject.

The angel wasn’t quite so convinced. “Sam, don’t you think we should ask Dean first? Or Lucifer? I’m sure he’d like to keep his location known to as few people as possible…”

“Cass, I get your concern, but I’m _not_ going to tell my Mom she can’t come visit because we’re playing host to Satan. She’s family, okay? I don’t want to keep secrets from her.” And finally, they reach the diner they planned to meet at, and Sam pulls into the parking lot just outside. “Crowley already knows where Lucifer is, anyways. There’s not much point in keeping it a secret anymore.”

“ _Crowley_ can’t get into the bunker,” Castiel reminds him, still not wholly convinced. But, he does understand Sam’s reasoning, and, not wanting to argue with him, Castiel sighs, conceding. “I’m sure it’s fine. Your mother seems like a trustworthy woman.”

Sam nods, grateful for the end of their sort-of disagreement. He gives a shrug, and shoots Cass half a smile as he puts the car into park and turns her off. “Look at it this way; she’s bound to find out sooner or later. Moms are good at that kind of thing. I’d rather tell her and be around to stop her from shooting him, than have her find out on her own, you know?”

“I see your point.” Castiel’s gravelly voice lets Sam know he’s smiling on the inside, even if outwardly he doesn’t show quite so much emotion. As far as he’s seen, Lucifer needs all the help he can get in not getting shot. It’s almost like he _tries_ to make others angry with him, sometimes. As the car is turned off, Castiel unbuckles his seatbelt, and opens his door as Sam does the same. “They’re waiting for us,” he nods towards the entrance, where both Mick and Mary are standing and watching the parking lot for them.

Sam gives them a nod, and then sighs just loud enough for Cass to notice. “Alright. Let’s get this over with, then…”

 


	8. Simple Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Boy, don't you worry, you'll find yourself  
> Follow your heart and nothing else  
> And you can do this, oh baby, if you try  
> All that I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied"
> 
> "And be a simple kind of man  
> Oh, be something you love and understand  
> Baby be a simple kind of man  
> Oh, won't you do this for me, son, if you can"  
> \- Lynyrd Skynyrd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me apologise in advance—I’m not really sure of what to do with Mary, (Mick too, but Mary’s the real problem child) so she’s maybe not as well/thoroughly written as she should be… Once I figure her out more, I may go back and edit this part. I know there’s not much, but tell me what you think, please. I need the criticism, opinions, and suggestions—they really help.

Four people can normally fit into a booth without any difficulty, but when three of said four people are sitting on one side, it’s not quite so easily accomplished. They did manage to fit, barely. But they looked very odd doing so, if the waitress’s raised brow was any indication.

Mick had invited Mary to sit beside him, but not even _she_ was much inclined to sit next to the British man. Instead, she sat on the inside of the booth, with Sam in the middle, and Castiel on his other side.

They’d greeted each other at the door, but other than that, no one had spoken up. The Winchesters + Castiel were waiting for Mick to get on with why he’s here. He knew this, and remained silent until after the waitress had taken all their orders (the angel ordered a burger, he noted with some surprise) before he finally spoke.

“It makes me glad that you’re willing to hear me out despite the… unfortunate circumstances under which we met.” Perhaps they’d rather not be reminded, but Mick has never been one to pretend the elephant in the room isn’t there. “Perhaps I can repair the bridges Lady Bevell worked so hard to burn. We don’t wish to work against you. In fact, I was sent across the pond here to help you; the American hunters.” He reaches down next to him to retrieve a tablet to show them a video on. “We’re good at what we do, I assure you. There hasn’t been a monster-related death in the United Kingdom since 1965.” On the screen, a man gets off a boat, and the security feed they’re watching it from reveals that he’s a shifter when his eyes shine briefly. “Whenever a monster enters the country, we’re aware within a mere twenty minutes.” The time on the security feed skips forward about half an hour, and the video shows a different place, with the same shifter walking into an ally, only to be promptly attacked by members of the British Men of Letters and killed. “Within forty minutes, it’s dead.”

Mick turns off the tablet, gauging the reactions of those seated across from him. “We truly only want to help. So what do you say? Will you let us, in the spirit of your country’s recent inauguration, help you ‘Make America Great Again’?”

Sam and Mary share a look, both with equally impassive expressions.

It’s Castiel who responds first however, leaning in to gain Mick’s full attention. “You’ve told us the results, but what are the means? What’s your motivation? I’ve learned many lessons about humanity, and while I like to think the best of them, I’m not foolish enough to believe that you and yours would offer something like this for no other reason than ‘you want to help’.”

Mick meets the Angel’s intense gaze evenly, showing no signs of being intimidated, or even offended. “You’ve a right to be suspicious, of course, but I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. There’s no big plot, Castiel. We’ve eliminated the problem in our country, and we can’t sit by and watch while people die elsewhere. Our way works, so we wish to implement it wherever we can so that we might prevent unnecessary death. Don’t you see? Our goals are the same.”

“And what about monsters that aren’t hurting anyone?” Sam has to admit that he likes the idea of stopping monsters before they do any damage… too many times, they only find out there’s a monster hunting people after it’s killed several. But then there are monsters like Garth, like Amy Pond, like Benny Lafitte, like Magda Peterson, who leave people alone, who even _protect_ some people. They just want to live their lives, and they certainly don’t deserve death. “You can’t just kill people indiscriminately, and expect us to back you up.”

Not much fazes Mick Davies, but frankly, this question threw him for a loop. “Now, perhaps you don’t like it… but _all_ monsters are dangerous, Sam. We don’t have the luxury of giving them the benefit of the doubt when civilian lives are at risk. Surely you understand this…”

Before he even finishes, Sam is shaking his head, and Castiel is mirroring his friend’s look of disapproval. “Not all monsters are monstrous, Mick. And if you can’t distinguish between people and monsters, I can’t work with you.”

Notably, Mary remains silent, just watching the exchange between her son and the Man of Letters. She doesn’t want to say so in front of Sam, but she agrees with Mick. Many shouldn’t have to die for the sake of a few. As much as she’d like to let every decent person live, monster or not, that’s an unrealistic ideal.

“Nonhumans are a threat that _cannot_ be ignored, Sam Winchester.”

“I’m not human.” Castiel’s voice is quiet, but unafraid as his eyes bore into Mick. “Am I a threat?”

When Mick doesn’t immediately respond, Castiel continues, not raising his voice at all. “Do I need to be dealt with, too?”

Finally, the British man shakes his head, though he looks conflicted about it. “Of course not… you’re an angel, not a _monster_.”

“Angels are just as dangerous as any monster.” The trench-coated man’s tone is hard, ungiving, but not threatening.

The conversation stops for a moment as the waitress returns with their drinks, and promptly leaves again.

“What makes me any different from a werewolf that feeds on livestock? Or a skinwalker that plays a house pet for food and shelter?”

“…” Again, Mick looks terribly conflicted, because he doesn’t know the answer. Or more specifically, he doesn’t know the answer to turn this conversation back in his favour. In all honesty… After the events of the apocalypse, Angels are on the list right alongside Monsters, Pagan Deities, and Demons. But he can’t bloody well _say_ that, or he’ll have two angry hunters and an angel to answer to.

“Thought so.” Sam takes Mick’s silence as answer enough, shaking his head. “We’re hunters, not murderers. If you can’t promise us a way that doesn’t mean the deaths of innocent people, we can’t help you.”

 _These hunters; all so small-minded,_ Mick gripes to himself, frowning at the angel and hunter. “We’re in the interest of saving as many lives as we possibly can, Sam Winchester. Sometimes, that means not giving every fanged and clawed thing we come across the benefit of the doubt. But, I’d rather kill a few harmless shifters than let a harmful one kill dozens of humans before we find out about it.”

“But what about the good ones, huh? The ones who didn’t _ask_ to be made into monsters, and who don’t hurt anybody? You’re just going to condemn them all?”

“Sam,” Mary speaks up finally, touching her youngest son’s arm and nodding to the guests at the table besides them. “Not so loud.” She straightens up then, squaring her shoulders as she adds her input to the conversation. “I know you don’t like it, but Hunters are about more than just killing monsters, Sam. Hunters are about saving lives, and the way I see it, their way saves more lives than ours does, so Mick…” the blonde turns her focused eyes onto the British Man of Letters, “I’m listening.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to look conflicted, because… He very strongly disagrees with that evaluation, but now it’s his mom advocating it, and he can’t just tell her she’s _wrong_. He shares a look with Castiel, who reflects his confusion.

Unlike Sam and Castiel, Mick wastes no time, quickly regaining his wits and taking Mary’s invitation to go on. “Right you are, Mary. I knew you were a sensible woman from the moment I met you.” Once again he shows them his tablet, this time with a graph of the plummeting death rates in the UK around the 1950s and 60s. “The numbers speak for themselves; England is safer than it ever was before we stepped in. We’re _making a difference,_ Sam, Castiel, Mary. But we can’t do it alone, and I’m sure that if you just put us in contact with other hunters, maybe put in a good word or two, we can make America a much safer place too. You and your brother are _heroes_ to these people, Sam. Your word can make or break this operation, and all I’m asking is that you consider all the good we can do together.”

Sam can tell that Mick really believes in what he’s saying, even if Sam doesn’t agree that his way is the _best_ way.

He can feel his Mom watching him too, and above anything, he just… he doesn’t want to disappoint her. He knows what Dean’s answer would be, but his older brother isn’t here right now, and therefore can’t speak for himself. Which, makes him the perfect out. “… I’ll—I’ll talk to Dean. We’ll think about it. No promises.”

“That’s all I’m asking, lad.” Mick’s expression is a complicated mixture of a relieved, charming smile, and a hidden tightness behind it all, belying how stressed he is over this situation. It’s only visible for a second though, before the waitress comes by with their food, and he’s all charm and pleasantness again. “Ah, very good. These American diners are very quick with their service, it’s extraordinary. Cheers.” He lifts his glass in thanks as the waitress gives each of them what they ordered, and then asks if they need anything else.

Mick asks for some milk for his coffee, but the other three don’t need anything. When she’s gone, Mick gestures to the food. “Now, there’s no need to continue this terribly solemn discussion when there’s food to be eaten. Enjoy, it’s on me.”

The three across from him didn’t need to be told twice, and Sam caught up with his mother as they turned away from the somewhat morbid topic that they’d been called to discuss.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean has a theory. Paint makes everything better.

It must be, otherwise he wouldn’t be here trying not to stare at a blonde man he should probably hate.

But it makes sense, right? The impala wouldn’t be the same without her glossy black paint… Spraypaint makes demon traps, and those have saved their lives more times than he can count. (Because it’s a lot, not… you know. Dean can count really high. Like, to the billions probably. But who has that kinda time?) It makes warding too, which is what Lucifer’s currently using it for.

He took off his shirt earlier, and is now in just a thin white undershirt (or, it _was_ white, before Lucifer started working with red spraypaint), frowning in concentration as he figures out how to improve the warding on the bunker without breaking any of the existing stuff.

Dean’s been supervising, nursing a beer off to the side and pretending like he totally understands all the magical mumbo-jumbo Lucifer keeps telling him about. Or, more accurately, talking _at_ him about.

Lucifer’s explanations of the warding are interrupted periodically by fits of coughing or sneezing, usually followed by a curse as he fixes the line he just messed up. He’s gotten pretty good at wiping away the paint before it dries all the way (from plenty of practice), and has a rag ready to do so. Not that you’d know he was even using a rag, from the look of his hands. They’re covered in dashes of spraypaint, along with his arms, jeans, and undershirt. Thankfully, Sam and Dean have learned how to get spraypaint out of denim and cloth, so it’s not the end of those clothes.

But particularly, what keeps drawing Dean’s eye is the single streak of paint across Lucifer’s nose and cheek, where he’d rubbed his nose too soon after wiping away wet paint. He hasn’t appeared to notice it, continuing on without a clue as to how spectacularly messy he is; like something off a magazine cover.

Dean doesn’t really have to engage much in the conversation besides the occasional indication that he’s still listening. Lucifer isn’t really looking for a conversation—which is good, because while Dean is intelligent in his own right, he doesn’t have nearly the kind of expertise on this stuff that Lucifer does—he’s really just thinking out loud, and it suits them both perfectly.

Though, some music would be kinda nice. But then Dean would have to leave Lucifer to get a speaker, and Sam would crucify him if he somehow found out he did that. Or (Chuck forbid) he came back home while Dean wasn’t keeping an eye on Satan.

The other option was bringing Lucifer with him, and Dean can just imagine the look he’d get if he suggested that. Oh, he wouldn’t _say_ it, but Dean would feel the blonde’s irritation and hear his put-upon sighs the whole way to get the speaker and back.

Nope, it’s just better to let Lucifer fill the silence. It’s not like he’s hard to listen to, anyways. He’s got a nice, smooth voice when he’s not actively trying to be irritating.

A voice which is, currently, trying to get his attention. “Dean,” Lucifer says, in a tone that tells the hunter he’s said it at least three times already.

And, there’s the irritation Dean’s starting to get used to. “Uh, sorry. What?”

“Ah, so someone _is_ home.” The blonde rolls his eyes at him, rattling the can of paint. “This one’s empty. You have more, right?”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” Dean sets down his beer, deciding he definitely doesn’t need more when he’s already daydreaming while sober. “I’ve got some in my room. It’s not far.” And, coincidentally, he’s got a speaker there, too. “Come on,” he waves for Lucifer to follow him out, holding the door open.

Lucifer didn’t make him wait, not even really needing to be told to follow before he makes his way through the door after Dean. He doesn’t comment on the unnecessary reminder though, instead carrying on to his next request without missing a beat. “I know it’s against the rules, but can I have something to carve with? I’m worried the spraypaint won’t be as potent.”

Dean honestly wants to say yes, because he’s seen how focused and careful Lucifer’s been with the warding, and he knows that the former archangel wouldn’t mess it up. More than that, it would be against Lucifer’s best interests to screw it up. Even out of spite, he isn’t dumb enough to break the one thing keeping him safe in this place.

If they could trust him with anything, it’s this, but again, Sam would have his head if he handed Lucifer a _pocketknife_ —let alone a chisel and hammer.

But then again, Lucifer’s right. Spraypaint has to be periodically refreshed; carved warding is permanent. Dean hedges, giving a helpless shrug that Lucifer can’t see. “Wait ‘til Sam gets back, we’ll see about it. Spraypaint works fine, it just has to be touched up every now and then.”

Lucifer nods, not turning around to look at the hunter just a few steps behind him. “Ah, well. In the likely event that’s a ‘no’, it just means I have something to keep me busy a couple hours every week.” Lucifer’s tone was bland, but not entirely sarcastic as he continued, “Yay, I guess?”

Dean half-smiles at the response, glad that the other isn’t turning it into an argument. Honestly, Lucifer’s been a lot less argumentative than he expected him to be, but then, that’s a pretty high bar, given that the dude’s claim to fame is getting in an argument with God. Sure, he’s not the most agreeable guy, but he seems to respect most of their rules, even while he displays displeasure at a few of them.

But the Winchesters have their reasons, and they’ve been made clear, and they make sense, so Lucifer follows their restrictions without too much complaint.

“There you go. You know, you’re way more of a bright-side guy than I would’ve guessed.” Dean speeds up a little to walk in pace with Lucifer, preferring to be able to see his face. ~~Though, his backside is nice too.~~

The once-archangel shoots Dean a questioning look as the hunter draws even with him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“C’mon, you’re always pointing out the good side to your situation. I figured you’d be this fatalistic, deadpan, morbid-humour kinda guy.”

“Because I’m Satan?”

“Well, more because you tried to actually end the world, and your life kinda sucks, but yeah; that too.”

“Mhm... Sorry to disappoint.”

“No, no. Like, it’s nice. I like bright-side, nerdy Lucifer way better than end-the-world, doom-and-gloom Satan.”

“… thanks? I think?” He sounded a bit confused still, but Dean could see him smiling despite himself, however little.

“You’re welcome.” Dean responds solidly, and then abruptly, silence falls between them.

Dean figures Lucifer’s just thinking about the warding still, so it surprises him when the blonde finally breaks the silence, still on the subject they just left off. “You think I’m nerdy?”

Huh, not the question Dean expected. Honestly, he hadn’t thought about it much when he said it, he just kinda did. “Well, yeah, I guess? I mean, you like to read books that you can barely lift, and you can talk forever about that warding stuff, and you invented a whole secret code for your demons… I dunno about you, but that’s kind of the definition of a nerd, where I come from.”

Seeing something vaguely like self-consciousness cross Lucifer’s face, Dean quickly backpedals. “Hey, it’s not like it’s a bad thing, dude. Kevin’s a huge nerd, and he’s one of the coolest people I know. Knew. Know. Uh…” He rubs the back of his neck, not really sure what the ruling on that is, when he’s a ghost who’s technically still around, but only sometimes. “… Anyways. Sam’s a nerd too, don’t let the girliness fool you. I guess it kinda makes sense that you would have some things in common…” Seeing the look Lucifer’s giving him now, Dean quickly ends his rambling. “I should probably stop while I’m ahead, huh?”

“Yeah, too late for that one, Deano.” They actually stopped in the middle of the hallway, Lucifer watching Dean with a mix of incredulity and amusement, and Dean still rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. After a few awkward seconds of quiet, Lucifer sighs, turning away and continuing the short trek to Dean’s room. “Yeah, you got me. World’s first nerd, right here. It figures, that _you’d_ point it out.” He remembers that Michael used to tease him endlessly—as is required of brothers, of course—for the same reasons that Dean thought he was ‘nerdy’. And from the way Dean talks about Sam, Lucifer guesses their relationship isn’t too different than he and Michael had been.

It’s refreshing, especially because Dean seems to see it as a positive trait, whereas Michael had always given off the impression that he didn’t respect Lucifer’s thirst for knowledge and need to know how and why things worked. Maybe, just maybe, though, Lucifer had read him wrong, and like Dean, he would defend any trait of his brother’s to an outsider. One can hope.

Now it’s Dean’s turn to give Lucifer a sideways glance. “And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t get quite the response he expects, when Lucifer turns to him with a smile that’s probably meant to be teasing, but comes off more as fond. “Nothing bad, don’t you worry.”

If he’s being honest, Dean was left slightly more confused than he was before asking. But, Lucifer seemed to be pleased about _something_ he’d said, so he figured that at least, he hadn’t made a _complete_ ass of himself.

Lucifer, meanwhile, reaches the hallway where he knew Dean and Sam’s rooms were, and waited a moment for Dean to point out his room from the many identical doors. Dean simply walked past him, to one on the right of the hallway, and swung it open, this time not holding it for Lucifer. He didn’t need to, as the blonde followed him closely inside.

He hadn’t seen Dean’s room yet, and he was both surprised by it, and not surprised at all. Sam’s room had been very neat and orderly, with very few personal items exposed for others to see. He’d expected Dean’s to be similar, practically military in his tidiness, but he was wrong. Whereas Sam’s room was sparse due to his reluctance to really claim this place as his permanent home, Dean had no such qualms. He was excited to have a home they could call their own, and the room was practically covered in evidence that someone lived here. He had old posters on one wall, a pair of guns on another, a hammer in the trash, oddly enough. There were photos on his nightstand, cassette tapes strewn next to them. It had a welcoming feel, just messy enough to be an obviously lived-in room, yet still tidy enough to know the occupant wasn’t a slob. Organised chaos, Lucifer thought, as he took in the room around him. There were things everywhere, but nothing really looked to be out of place; not even the worn green flannel carelessly tossed over Dean’s desk chair.

Dean knew exactly what he was looking for, and took no time in grabbing a duffel bag from his closet, pulling out two more cans of red spraypaint. “Heads up,” He quickly got Lucifer’s attention, tossing him one of the cans.

Lucifer caught it without too much trouble, but that was probably more due to Dean’s ability to aim than Lucifer’s ability to catch. The second one was tossed to him as well, and he caught it, too. And not a second too soon, either, because then he promptly sneezed into his elbow.

Figures, he’d go for almost half an hour without an issue, then sneeze almost during the one thing that required hand-eye coordination.

And then again. Why do sneezes always seem to come in sets?

Lucifer rubs his nose, watching as Dean pulls a speaker from one of his drawers. “Good idea.”

The hunter turns back to him, gesturing back towards the hallway. “Figured we could use some music. Not feeling any better, huh?”

The blonde shakes his head, tucking the cans under one arm and leading the way back. “Not any worse than I have since breakfast, though. Just more of the same.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a break? We can stop for lunch whenever you’re ready.”

Again, Lucifer shakes his head. “It’s not like I’m doing heavy labour or anything. I’m only drawing on the walls with a can.”

Dean accepted that answer. It was a relatively small room they were working in, anyways. The Men of Letters had an interesting way warding their home base. Rather than etching wards around the entirety of the bunker, they had a single room which they warded in every conceivable way they could. They did have the foresight, at least, to leave room for additional warding in case they discovered anything new or stronger, which is what Lucifer has to work with.

And this room is basically a complex magical engine. All the power of the warding is concentrated there, and the Men of Letters found a way to transfer that energy as if it were electricity, into a long, unbroken, very thick, very sturdy metal cord that supposedly runs through all the outer walls. There’s actually a lever that disconnects the cord from the room, thereby shutting off the wards keeping things out, if the need should arise.

It’s an intricate system, and Lucifer looked as excited as a kid on Christmas when Dean showed it to him and explained the basics of it, from what Sam had read about the bunker’s construction. He’d spent a solid hour without even touching the spraypaint, just reading the warding already placed, and talking to himself as he worked out how they managed to balance out having so much of it in such a condensed area without them cancelling one another out. Not only are there protection wards, but there are alarms, and illusions, and all kinds of things meant to trick and scare away potential threats.

Dean could ward a safe house as well as anyone else, but this stuff was complicated even for Lucifer, who could probably ward a safe house in half the time it took Dean to, _and_ have it be twice as effective. He didn’t get most of it, but he did get the impression that it was very delicate, and very intricate.

At one point, Lucifer had drawn two symbols that were each missing a line, one on either side of the room, and asked Dean to spray on one line at the same time that Lucifer added his in. The air had been charged for a few seconds afterwards, but when nothing happened, and the strange static-y-everywhere feeling had left the room, Lucifer let out a breath, and Dean figured that meant whatever they just did had worked. Lucifer explained that it had something to do with the stability of the wards, and that these two would help make the whole thing easier to add on to.

Whatever it was, Dean was just happy to let Lucifer do his thing, and Lucifer seemed more than happy to keep at it more or less on his own.

They had company, music, and a job to be done, and frankly, neither of them could be happier.


	9. Stairway to Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune,  
> Then the piper will lead us to reason.  
> And a new day will dawn for those who stand long,  
> And the forests will echo with laughter.  
> \- Led Zeppelin
> 
> I know it's a little late, and a little short, but the next scene is just too long to include in one chapter. Also, I am not fast.
> 
> ~~It's Saturday somewhere lol.~~

Hey guys, so, my amazing bestie [purrfectmochi](https://purrfectmochi.tumblr.com/) made this beautiful Draw the Squad Fanart for Resilience!! LOOK AT IT. IT'S SO PRETTY! AHHHHH!?!?! <3 <3 <3

  

Go give her love!!! All the love!!

 

* * *

 

Having had Breakfast so late, neither Lucifer nor Dean got hungry for a while, and hadn’t stopped for lunch before Sam and Castiel got back. Well, before _Sam_ got back, really. They wouldn’t even have noticed, had he not gone to check on the bunker’s warding and found them there.

“Uh, what’s this?” The tallest Winchester announced his presence with a tone of utter confusion.

Nobody could really blame him, though. The situation did look pretty weird. Lucifer was still covered pretty much head-to-toe in streaks of red paint, and Dean was off to the side with a beer, singing along to ‘Simple Man’.

The latter took a break in his singing however, to clue Sam in. “Heya, Sammy. Lucifer’s just giving us a kick-ass upgrade to the warding here. Cool, right?”

Said former Archangel finally looked away from what he was doing and beams at Sam. “Kick-ass is right. _I_ wouldn’t even be able to get in here anymore.”

“That’s great, guys…” Sam shakes his head as he finally understands the problem. “But did you forget that an angel lives here, too?”

It takes a second, but Sam can see the exact point at which Lucifer’s _tiny_ mistake dawns on him. The blonde slaps himself on the forehead as he responds. “Oh man, _Cass._ Uhh…” He looks around at the numerous wards he’s spraypainted on the walls, covering his mouth with one hand while he thinks.

Dean can tell Lucifer’s beating himself up over it. He’s not quite sure when exactly he figured out how to read Lucifer’s face so easily, but he can definitely tell that’s what’s happening now. “It’s okay man, we’ll just fix it. Is there a spell, or something we can give him so the warding doesn’t keep him out?”

The blonde shakes his head, but Dean’s suggestion seemed to spark an idea for him. “There are very few ways to negate warding, and most of them require power we simply don’t have.” Like the spell Sam found that required an archangel’s grace. However, in the interest of _not_ making them more upset with him, he leaves that particular example out. “But, you’re on the right track with targeting just Castiel. I can just give him, specifically, permission to enter. I need something capable of finer detail than spraypaint, however.”

“I gotcha.” Dean felt kinda bad about forgetting to exempt Castiel too, so he wasted no time in running off to the supply closet for a small paintbrush and whatever paint they had in there, leaving Lucifer alone with Sam.

The taller hunter watches his brother run off, then takes a better look at the room, and the paint-covered blonde. “So, who’s idea was all this?”

Sam didn’t seem to be upset with him, but Lucifer’s discovered that he’s not very good at reading people. Just to be safe, he keeps his distance. “Mine. I thought it’d be a good idea, considering how dated all this warding is… For how intricate this system they’ve designed is, they really only knew the basics of keeping the creepy-crawlies out. It was solid stuff, don’t get me wrong. But it could’ve been a lot better, so…” He gestures a little bit helplessly at all the work he’s done on the room, the walls around him covered in all kinds of spraypaint markings. In part, he wanted to do this because he remembers having no trouble getting past the warding himself, and he’d like to have all his bases covered.

He really doesn’t have any idea of how far Crowley will go to get him back, and if the demon goes and decides to release Michael or something equally powerful, Lucifer would like to be ready for it. And, he thinks Sam and Dean would appreciate being able to keep archangels out. At least, he hoped so. Dean hasn’t complained so far, but Sam’s silence isn’t telling him anything.

After listening, and looking over a smaller symbol, Sam finally nods, voicing his opinion. “That _is_ a pretty good idea. I’ve never seen anything _like_ some of these symbols before. Could you teach me?”

Lucifer stays quiet for a second, surprised by the response. Then, he smiles, moving closer to Sam. “Yeah, of course.” Two for two, he thinks smugly to himself. Yeah, this was the right way to occupy himself.

And of course, then he ruins it with another coughing fit.

Sam waits it out, trying not to look sympathetic or pitying, because he knows Lucifer doesn’t want any of that. “Um, maybe when you’re feeling better. That cough sounds really bad, Lucifer. Are you sure you’re okay?” Maybe he should have stopped for cough syrup or something before coming back. Because… yikes, Lucifer sounds a lot worse than he did yesterday.

The devil waves him off as the fit subsides, and he clears his throat. “I’m fine. I swear, the number of times Dean’s asked me that today.” The blonde shakes his head, grumbling good-naturedly. “You’d think he was my mother.”

Unfortunately for him, Dean came back right about then, returning with paintbrush and blue paint in hand. “You say that like it’s a crime to give a shit about you.”

Lucifer jumps a little bit, having not expected Dean’s voice. He’s been human over 2 months already, and he’s still not used to being unable to sense everyone around him. At least with Kevin, his appearances were always preceded by a sudden drop in temperature. And once Lucifer got used to that, Kevin really couldn’t sneak up on him anymore.

But these Winchesters (that includes Castiel, too); they walk with a surprising amount of stealth. It’s not the first time one of them has surprised him, and it likely won’t be the last.

Lucifer turns around to face him, then pulls a face at the remark. “In some religions, it is.” He reaches for the paint, and Dean hands it over. “I’ll take _that_ —thank you.”

“Good thing I’m not religious, then.” Dean’s response comes easily, like most of their banter has throughout the day.

But unlike earlier, Lucifer doesn’t seem to be much in the mood for it. He simply rolls his eyes and goes back to the wall.

And with an ever-increasingly more common mixture of amusement and exasperation on his face, the hunter shakes his head at Lucifer as he gets to work on the rune to let Castiel back into the bunker. Dean considers just letting it go again, but then he remembers that he’s Dean fucking Winchester, and he doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone. That, and he’s getting real tired of Lucifer changing the subject or pushing him away whenever confronted about his wellbeing. “And you’re being grumpy again. C’mon dude, would it kill you to let someone else worry about you?”

Sam, who had been thoroughly amused by the sight of Dean meeting his match in sass and deadpan humour (maybe it wasn’t so bad to have two of them after all), quickly became lost. Lucifer closed himself off all at once; Sam recognised the behaviour instantly, as it’s something he himself had been known to do. And Dean looked frustrated about it now, giving Sam the impression that this had already happened multiple times today.

He took all of .3 seconds to register these things, and then backed his brother up, since Lucifer seemed intent on not answering. “He’s right, you really don’t sound good, Lucifer.” And, Sam really gets that Lucifer is trying to be as little of a burden as he can be… but it’s just wrong to ignore your basic, physical needs. “I wish you’d said something; Dean could have texted me to pick up some medicine for you.” In Lucifer’s position, Sam feels like he would act the same way, which is why he knows he needs to make it abundantly clear that Lucifer being sick isn’t an inconvenience to them.

If it was Sam coughing like that, Dean would have dragged him to his bed already and made him soup, and then made him sleep until he felt better. And from the way his brother sounds, the older hunter is about two minutes from doing just that, regardless of who he is.

Neither of them gets a response until Lucifer finishes painting on the odd symbol that will supposedly let Castiel in. There’s Enochian within it, and Sam recognises the words meaning ‘fall’ and ‘of god’ stacked on top of each other in a way Sam didn’t recognise. A little belatedly, he realises that it must be Castiel’s name translated to Enochian.

**[[Fun fact: I don’t know much about Enochian, so I’m making most of this up. But Castiel’s name means “Fall of God” (Cast-to fall, iel-of God) in Latin, so that’s what I’m going off of. Another fun fact, translated to Enochian, Castiel’s name meaning would be pronounced like “Dobitza de Elo” so I’m imagining his Enochian name is said something like “Dobitzadelo”. But again, making this all up from my personal headcanons. I just wanted to say something so you aren’t lost, and also so I don’t get a bunch of questions asking about this. Just me taking some creative liberty with the warding/anti-warding???]]**

“Your concern is touching, really. But like I’ve said, _numerous_ times before, it’s unnecessary.” Sam and Dean had actually heard Lucifer use this tone before; though it was with Castiel’s voice then. This was Lucifer’s ‘if I could smite you right now, I would’ voice. If he didn’t look so tired, he might’ve even inspired fear with it, too.

But he _did_ look very tired, and therefore didn’t deter Dean from pressing on in the slightest. “Why? Is it _really_ so unthinkable for you to let us have your back?” Once Dean gets started, there’s no stopping him. It’s only been two and a half days since Lucifer got here, but already Dean has gotten used to his presence, and all the little things he’s picked up on but let slide—because hey, it’s none of his business if this relative stranger doesn’t want to share—are now coming to mind, and he’s deciding that yes, he’s making it his business. Because Lucifer signed up to join team Free Will, and he needs to understand that means he’s part of a _family_ , which, yeah, maybe he doesn’t have the best track record with, but around here, family means something, and Dean has to make sure he understands that. “You’re _not_ alone anymore. That means if you have a problem, you tell us. No ifs, no ands, no buts.”

“ _If_ I have a problem, you’ll be the first to know.” Stubborn creature of pride that he is, Lucifer doesn’t back down, responding with all the sarcasm he can muster. He sets down the paint and paintbrush, intensely focused gaze on Dean. Both Winchesters got the impression that if Lucifer were his usual nigh-all-powerful self, in Dean’s place would be nothing more than a pile of dust.

Sam feels like he should be doing something. Part of him wants to run and get Cass, because he seems to have a knack for diffusing Lucifer, and part of him wants to tell his brother to stop poking the bear, but he does neither. He’s frozen in place, and the last thing he wants to do is leave or interfere, because he can just _feel_ that something is about to happen.

As Lucifer reaches for the spraypaint so he can get back to work, Dean plucks it off the lone chair in the room, not about to let Lucifer just turn around and go back to ignoring the problem. “Okay, cut it out with the ‘tough guy’ bullshit. I’ve had enough of your ‘I’m invincible and I don’t need anybody’ crap.” He hands Sam the spraypaint, acknowledging that his brother needs a push into action.

Sam takes the can, and lets Dean get closer to Lucifer, realising what Dean wants from him. He suddenly realises, that the reason this all feels so surreal is that he’s so used to seeing Dean’s aggressive brand of concern directed at himself. He’s seen it directed at Cass or Bobby a handful of times, but at Lucifer? It just… caught him so off guard.

Did something happen between them while he was gone?

… No. Sam’s been trying to ignore it, but he’s seen how Dean watched Lucifer ever since he walked out of the dungeon two days ago. This isn’t out of nowhere. This is Dean Winchester, big brother bear, the kid who grew up too fast so he could protect and take care of Sam, the man who cares more deeply than he’d ever admit, who’s loyal to a fault, and is always the first to step in and save the day; Dean Winchester, the big brother everyone only _wishes_ they could have.

And for once, Sam gets to be a part of that, so he takes his cue, and he plays translator, putting what Dean’s trying to say in terms Lucifer will better understand. “You came here because you needed help, Lucifer. So let us help.” It’s still a little surreal, but it helps Sam to compare this to coaxing a witness on a case into giving them the information they need. “You wanted into the bunker, and now you’ve got it. That means you’ve got us, and you’ve got Cass.”

Dean interjects, nodding in agreement. “In sickness and in health, man. For better or for worse, you’re stuck with us.”

By now, Lucifer looked a little shell-shocked, and while he was trying to figure out what he’s supposed to do with… all this, Sam adds in one more thing. “Dean, Cass, and I? We’re a family, and  now that you’re living here, you’re part of that too. And we… we all have our hang-ups. Hell, I’ve screwed up a lot. None of us are perfect.”

As Sam starts to slow down, Dean picks up after him, the two brothers practically tag-teaming this conversation as if they could read each other’s minds. “We’ve all made mistakes; big mistakes. We’re far from the perfect family, but we make it work, because we trust each other. We’re trusting you, and we’re giving you the benefit of the doubt, but you’ve gotta do the same for us. You need to trust us not to toss you out on your ass just because you’ve got a fever, and you need rest.” While most of his words had a harsher edge to them, now Dean softens his tone a bit, his hand going up a little as if to reach for Lucifer’s shoulder, but he decides against it and his arm drops back to his side. “You’ve been beaten to hell and back, Lucifer. Nobody will be mad at you taking a break.”

As they speak, Lucifer goes through a range of emotions. Some of which, neither brother can quite define. But eventually, he settles on something between relief and resignation, letting his shoulders slump a little bit. “I get it… And yeah, as you so brilliantly deduced, I feel like crap, and I should probably sleep, or something, but, it wouldn’t do me any good.” He knows Dean will understand his meaning, even if Sam doesn’t, so he continues on without an explanation. “I… would rather be up, doing something, than alone and unable to get any decent sleep anyways.”

Dean’s no stranger to needing a way to occupy his mind to keep his thoughts off of the shit he really doesn’t want to think about, so he finally accepts that answer, nodding to the blonde. “See? That wasn’t so hard.” And now, he does put his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. “If you’d just said that this morning, we could’ve skipped all this work, and done something fun instead. There are other ways to rest than sleep, dude.”

And though he regrets it not even two seconds later, Lucifer retorts with the first thing that comes to mind, “I _was_ having fun.”

And that, of course, produces the kind of grin from Dean that means you’ve just given him blackmail fodder. “Drawing warding is fun? Sammy, I do believe I’ve finally found someone who out-nerds you.”

The tired blonde groans, shooting Dean a glare as he effectively breaks the tense atmosphere created by the Winchesters’ ‘pep talk’. “I’m not—”

“You _so_ are.” Dean’s still grinning, partially from the return to their easy banter, and partially because they actually just made _real_ progress in regards to Lucifer. “C’mon, nerd. Let’s go catch you up on Game of Thrones.”

“But—”

“Your art project will still be here when you feel better.” And before Lucifer can protest again, He gestures for Sam to get rid of the spraypaint. “We don’t need that anymore. We’ll come back in a few days and outline the rest, then carve it all in. Sound good?”

Sam’s first instinct is to be reluctant to promise Lucifer a chisel and hammer… but how can he go preaching about trust and then disagree with this? Anyways, if there’s anything they can trust Lucifer with, it’s the bunker’s warding. “Sounds good to me. Maybe you can teach me a couple things as we go, too. These are _amazing_.”

And, with the promise of being able to carve all this stuff in, making it permanent, Lucifer stops arguing. He honestly didn’t expect that, but he recognises the show of trust for what it is, and isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Sure thing, just say the word, and I’ll show you the basics of it—if you’ve ever got free time.”

Dean interrupts Sam’s response with feigned gagging. “I take it back, Sam’s as much of a nerd as you.”

And with that, Sam punches his shoulder, laughing a little. “Shut it, Jerk.”

“Make me, bitch.” Dean’s grin hasn’t faltered, and it’s practically infectious, drawing smiles from both Sam and Lucifer. “Hey, why don’t you go grab Cass, we’ll catch up in a sec.”

**[[ Meanwhile ~~Misha~~ Castiel:**

**]]**

“Oh man, _Cass._ ” Sam realises with a start that he’s left Cass waiting outside for over fifteen minutes now. Without further discussion, he practically runs back towards the garage, spraypaint can still in hand.

Lucifer moves forward as if to follow him out of the small room, but Dean holds him in place with the hand on his shoulder. “Hey, so Sam’s a bitch and probably won’t say it… But I’m glad you came to us. You’re not half bad, and it’s nice to have someone else around.” He looks like he wants to say more, but decides against it, and instead abruptly extends his arms in invitation. “C’mere.”

Lucifer stares at him uncomprehendingly for a second, and then realisation dawns, followed by more confusion.

Before he can open his mouth, Dean cuts him off. “Come on man, don’t make it awkward. Just—”

He stops when Lucifer, now wearing a smile once more, decides not to question it, and takes the offered hug. “Are you always this confusing, Dean Winchester?”

Dean pats him on the back with a huff of laughter. Only when he cares, he considers saying, before changing his mind and cutting this off before it turns into an all-out chick flick moment. “You’ll have to decide that one for yourself, sunshine.” He clears his throat, pulling away. “Don’t get used to those. C’mon, I’m starving, and I bet they brought back leftovers.”

Somehow, Lucifer sincerely doubts that that’s the last hug he’ll receive from Dean. _Softie,_ he thinks to himself with a smile. “Amen to that. I hope they brought burgers.”

“ _Finally,_ A man who _gets_ me.” Dean’s grin is back in full force as he leads the way towards the common area to meet Cass and Sam.


	10. Cherry Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Put a smile on your face  
> Ten miles wide  
> Looks so good  
> Bring a tear to your eye  
> Sweet cherry pie  
> \- Warrant
> 
> This chapter brought to you by Quotes from Sick Mel (performed by Satan™)
> 
> Sorry for the late update again! (maybe I should just say I update on Sundays, ahah.)

Castiel was waiting just outside the front door like Sam had asked him to. Before he’d run inside to figure out why the bunker was suddenly keeping Cass out, that is.

He had his concerned, pensive face on, though the worried creases in his forehead smoothed out some when he saw Sam. “So what was the problem?”

“It was no big deal really, Lucifer and Dean were giving the warding an upgrade, and they forgot to maybe lay off the angel stuff a little. Lucifer fixed it, anyways.” Sam steps away from the doorway to give Cass room to walk inside. “Sorry it took so long.”

With the explanation, Castiel nods and visibly relaxes, then walks through the door. “What do you mean? It was hardly a long wait.” After all, he’d once waited three hours on the side of a backwater street just to talk to Dean because the man needed sleep. “I’m just glad that nothing truly bad happened.”

Sam pats his friend on the back, closing the door and locking it before following Cass down the stairs. “No kidding. All’s well that ends well, I guess. And I definitely want a closer look at the warding he used; it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“You sound surprised.” Castiel half-turns as he walks to give Sam a raised brow.

“Heh,” The taller man rubs the back of his neck, “I guess I shouldn’t be, but yeah, some of it looks really intricate and powerful; I’d like to know what they all work against.” Sam certainly had his reservations about Lucifer, but predictably, once Sam realized how much they could learn, his nerd-half came out in full force and his apprehensive attitude turned into excitement about the arrangement. Just imagine, _all the things_ he can pick Lucifer’s brain about.

Cass turns back around, smiling at Sam’s tone. He’s surprised by how glad he is that Lucifer has joined them. By all rights, he really should resent his brother, but he doesn’t. When he was on the phone with Dean, he was ready to toss Lucifer out the second he got there, if not outright kill him on sight. But he did a lot of thinking on the drive back to the bunker three days ago (has it already been that long?), and decided that if Dean wanted to give him a shot, perhaps Castiel should at least give his brother a chance. After all, Lucifer _did_ help them, and Castiel got a second chance, so why not Lucifer?

And then when he arrived to see an unharmed Sam and Dean, He was thoroughly relieved, and he solidified his decision. He would help Lucifer, and he would do his best to help his brother change for the better. Lucifer had so much potential for good; he _was_ good once, and he can be good again. Castiel would help his brother, if only because he had failed so many others in his family.

Even then, he still had his doubts. And then they went to get his brother out of the dungeon. Seeing his older brother so scared, so lost, hurt, and in need of help erased the last of his doubts. Lucifer was mortal. He could be hurt, and he’d needed a brother, so Castiel had stepped up.

And now, the longer he spends with his estranged older brother, the more he sees of himself. Lucifer is just someone trying so hard to do his best in a world that doesn’t quite make sense to him. But he’s glad, at least, that his brother seems to have taken to humanity a little more easily than he did. There are still moments where it’s painfully obvious that Lucifer is _not_ human by nature, but for the most part he’s become very good at acting as if he is.

And he’s doubly glad that the Winchesters took Lucifer in… even though Dean turned Castiel away when he was human.

It _was_ a long time ago, yes. And Castiel has since realized that it was, at least in part, Gadreel’s doing, and he’s sure Dean didn’t _want_ to send him away… though he’d still like to hear one of the brothers actually tell him as much.

He’d like to say it doesn’t sill hurt him to think about, but that would be a lie.

But it’s well in the past, and it would just be foolish of him to bring up now. Foolish, and needlessly provocative.

But this isn’t about him right now, it’s about his brother, who is starting to find his place here with them. And he’s already helping out, which makes Castiel more hopeful than ever for his older brother. “I’d like to see the wards too; Lucifer was always the clever one in our family, I’m sure he has a lot to teach us.”

Sam nods from behind him, and then realizes that Castiel doesn’t have eyes in the back of his head. “Yeah; don’t let Dean hear you say that though, he’s already giving Lucifer and I a hard time about being nerds.”

Castiel could easily imagine Dean calling Satan a nerd, and that should really say something about the man. The image causes Castiel to laugh quietly, shaking his head as he reaches the bottom of the staircase. “Thanks for the warning. Are they still working on the wards? Should we meet them there?”

Sam reaches his side, glancing down the hall he’d come from. “I don’t know. Dean said they’d catch up with us, so I’m guessing they’ll come this way? I think Dean wants to get Lucifer to stop working.”

Waiting here is fine with Castiel, especially since he’s got company this time. He cocks his head at Sam quizzically once the tall man comes to a stop. “Why? Isn’t that the reason you’re letting him stay?”

“… I mean, yeah? But he’s really sick. He doesn’t need to be working right now.” The hunter shrugs, pulling his eyes away from the hall entrance. “Dean’s just worried about him, I think. He sounds terrible. Cass, you should probably check him out again.”

That assessment doesn’t fill Castiel with relief. Lucifer didn’t seem all that bad yesterday, but even with the boost the younger gave him, he’s worse today? “Perhaps we should get him medicine…”

“That’d probably be a good idea. I was going to suggest a run to Dean once they catch up. I bet he’s itching for a chance to get out of here for a little while.”

“Good idea,” Castiel nods, leaning against the stair’s railing.

He says nothing more, and Sam doesn’t break their comfortable silence either.

Dean’s the one who breaks it, just a minute or two later, as he comes down the hallways with Lucifer following behind, _still_ covered in red spraypaint. “Hey guys, so what did you bring us for lunch?”

Castiel is thrown, mostly by his brother’s appearance. Sam’s the one who answers, rolling his eyes. “Chicken Pot Pie, courtesy of the Men of Letters— _British division_.” Sam emphasizes the last part with a mock-English accent.

His older brother snorts, briefly sharing a disappointed look with Lucifer. “The Brits couldn’t’ve gotten me a burger?”

“Dude, it’s pie. You love pie.”

“No, it’s _Chicken Pot_ Pie, there’s a difference. One is sweet, gooey perfection, the other is soupy, messy _lies._ C’ _mon_ , Sammy.”

The younger brother rolls his eyes, sick of Dean’s pickiness. “Whatever, dude. Do you want it or not?”

“Of course I want it.”

Sam shakes his head at his ridiculous brother, “It’s in the car, Dean, go get it yourself. We’ll wait for you in the Kitchen.”

“I’ll come too,” Lucifer offers, taking a step in the direction Dean starts walking.

Again, Sam shakes his head, putting an arm across his chest to stop him. “Nope. Cass needs to take another look at you, and I’m gonna see if we have anything in the cabinet for your cough.”

The blonde man pulled a face, but didn’t argue, changing direction to follow Sam and Castiel into the kitchen. He may not like being babied, but he isn’t going to turn down medicine and a little divine intervention. He’s stubborn, not stupid.

 

* * *

 

**[[ Just so you know, about 80% of Lucifer’s lines in this scene come directly from things I’ve said while I was sick this week. You’re welcome. ]]**

When Dean returned to them, Lucifer was sitting on the island counter looking at a small cup of bright orange liquid with no small amount of distaste. Sam was washing off their practically archaic digital thermometer (where did he even _find_ that?), and Cass was hovering awkwardly next to his brother, reading the labels on a few bottles of pills. He stops in the doorway, just watching them for a minute.

“… How is it cherry flavoured, it’s not even cherry- _coloured?_ ”

“Sam, these are expired.” Castiel spares Lucifer a glance. “Just drink it, it’s not so bad if you swallow it quickly.”

“When did they expire?” Sam dries the thermometer off with a napkin, waiting while Lucifer downs the cup of cold/flu medication with a visible shudder.

The devil quickly sets the cup aside, grimacing. “Eurgh… _Nasty..._ ”

“Five months ago.” Castiel ignores Lucifer, answering Sam.

“… should be a circle in hell dedicated to _medicine…”_

“They’re fine.” Sam holds the thermometer out to Lucifer. “Put the metal end under your tongue until it beeps.”

“… cherry flavour my ass.” The blonde takes the device, turning it around. “What does it do?”

“Are you sure?” Castiel scrutinizes the pill bottle, opening the top to sniff it.

“I’m sure.” They’ll buy more the next time they’re out, but for now, less-effective than usual meds are still better than nothing at all. He takes the thermometer back from Lucifer, turning it and handing it back to him so it’s pointing the right way. “It’ll tell us exactly how hot you are, stop playing with it.”

“I’m not playing with it.” Lucifer smiles, doing what Sam asked and continuing to talk with it in his mouth. “Don’t need this anyways, we all know I’m an eleven.”

Sam rolls his eyes, turning around to put away the orange cold/flu stuff. “Stop talking, you’ll mess up the temperature.”

“Eleven is below freezing, brother. You’re not eleven.” Castiel shakes his head, half-worried that the fever is addling his brother’s mind.

The blonde snorts, but doesn’t correct Castiel. The thermometer beeps, and he takes it out, reading it out loud. “One-hundred two point one F. Is that bad?”

“Not as bad as I thought,” Dean decides to walk into the room then, smiling at the scene before him. “I come bearing gifts, blondie.”

As he lifts up the to-go box with a full chicken pot pie inside, Lucifer finally looks in his direction, and his smile widens. “ _Food,_ finally.”

Sam takes the thermometer from Lucifer, not as amused as his brother. “Dude, how are you even vertical right now?”

The blonde shrugs, hopping off the counter. “Coffee and desperation, I guess.” Honestly, he isn’t really sure how he’s kept it up today. He feels worse than yesterday, everything aches, and he’s surrounded by former enemies, but somehow he also feels more energetic. The last thing he wants to be doing is lying down and getting nothing done.

Maybe he’s just finally acclimating to all his injuries. It must be true what they say; What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.

Before he can make it too far, Castiel hands him the bottle he was scrutinising. “Take two of these before you eat, brother.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Dean opens the box and sets it on the counter as Lucifer approaches, nodding appreciatively. There’s only one pot pie, but it’s easily large enough to feed three people (or two people with Dean and Lucifer’s appetites). “Here, I’ll heat it up, you go get changed, streaky.”

The former archangel glances down at his still-messy clothing, and nods. “Yeah… That’s probably a good idea. Be right back.” He left his shirt in the other room too, so he should probably go retrieve it at some point. But, later.

With Lucifer gone from the room, Dean gets to work trying to fit the pie into the microwave, and realising that he can’t.

Sam abandons the thermometer to stop his brother before he makes a mess. “Seriously, dude, what are you? Twelve?”

“Maybe.”

“It might fit if you cut it into fourths,” Castiel suggests, taking over with putting away all the things they pulled out of the cabinet.

“Don’t encourage his laziness,” the younger hunter pulls the pot pie away, setting it on top of the stove. “Just bake it, Dean. I started the oven for you already, anyways.”

The older brother pouts, eyeing the oven distrustfully. “I’m not lazy, I’m hungry. And it’ll take an hour in the oven!”

“It’ll take fifteen minutes, once it warms up. You can wait.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t just grab us burgers.”

“I couldn’t, dude.” Sam rolls his eyes at his brother, for what feels like the hundredth time today. “Mick offered to buy something for me to bring back for you, I can’t just tell him I need _two_ burgers, because we’ve got _Lucifer_ crashing here too. This was big enough for both of you, so I just told him you _really_ like pie, and he didn’t question it.”

Dean glares at the oven, determined not to accept the excuse. “Yeah, whatever.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, Sam takes it as an opportunity to get to what he’s been meaning to talk to Dean about since he got here. “Hey, um. Mom says hi.”

“Not in person, though.”

“C’mon, Dean.” The younger brother sighs, leaning back against the counter. “Things are weird for her, she needs space, you have to understand that.”

“No,” Dean turns his glare from the oven to Sam, “I don’t. I don’t understand that. She’s our _Mom,_ Sam. I get that things are weird, but weird is _normal_ for us. She can go around hunting and chatting up the Brits, but she can’t stop by and have dinner every now and then? Why’s she avoiding us?”

“One Brit, Dean. And I went too. He wasn’t such a bad guy, either.”

“ _Don’t,”_ Dean practically snarls, “ _Don’t_ defend them, not after what they did. They can smile and act nice all they want, but they’re bad news, and I don’t trust them one bit.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that. But still, it’s only been a month—”

“ _Two_ months.”

“Okay, _two months_ , since Mom went to sort herself out. That stuff takes time, Dean. I mean, she came back from the dead three _decades_ after she died. Last time she saw you, you were _five._ Give her a break.”

“We don’t get a break, so why should she?” Dean knows it’s a weak argument, but he’s angry, and hurt, and he really doesn’t want to talk about it right now. “I’m not asking for much, Sam. I just wish she’d check in every now and then, so we can… make up for lost time, or something, I don’t know…”

“So why won’t you answer her texts?”

The hunter sets his jaw, crossing his arms and choosing not to answer his brother.

Eventually, Sam sighs, realising he’s not going to get to the heart of the problem today, and just letting it go. “For what it’s worth, she said she’ll stop by soon, if you want her to. You should call her.” He doesn’t expect his brother to answer him, so he isn’t surprised when he’s met with more silence.

It’s not that Sam isn’t thrilled to have their mom back, really, but it seems like since she got back, Dean’s been a lot more… easily set off. And Sam hardly remembers her as it is. He only knew what she looked like from pictures. It’s always been his Dad and Dean who were driven by the memory of Mary Winchester.

For him, it’s like gaining something he never had. It doesn’t matter if she’s not exactly what he expected, since he didn’t have any kind of basis to go off of anyways.

But for Dean, it’s different. Dean remembers how things were before the fire, and the hunting. He knows now that their lives ended up like this because of Mary’s deal, so it hurt more for him when she left.

Sam gets this, but he can’t relate, and it’s putting a rift between him and his brother, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Just… if he can get their mom to come back, maybe that’ll fix things.

The _last_ thing they need right now is to be at odds with one another. There’s too much going on right now for that.

About the time that the pot pie is heated up again, Lucifer returns to the kitchen, sans spraypaint. Even the streak on his cheek was gone, though Dean was secretly hoping he wouldn’t notice it. He was wearing a different pair of jeans now, these ones with a hole in one of the knees. And instead of just a t-shirt, like he had earlier, he was now wearing a Detroit Red Wings hoodie that was at least a size too big for him, and clearly wasn’t new when he bought it. The way the sleeves of it fell past his palms gave Dean a surreal flashback to his teenage years, when he’d wear Dad’s Jacket and be practically swimming in it.

Dean can’t even stay mad about his mom when he’s got a certain blonde Archangel to tease. “Dude, you’ve _got_ to get some clothes that fit you.”

“It _does_ fit,” Lucifer replies defensively, pushing up the sleeves to bunch at his elbows. “And it’s comfortable, that’s all I care about.”

“If you were about fifty pounds heavier, it’d fit just fine. You need more clothes anyways, you can’t survive on just a backpack full of clothes forever.” Dean stands up to compare his height to Lucifer’s, just realising he isn’t sure if he’s taller or shorter.

“You can if you wash them,” Lucifer rolls his eyes, watching Dean approach curiously.

It turns out, the answer is neither, as he finds out when he gets closer and does the horizontal hand-comparison thing above their heads. “Huh, we’re about the same height, so you’re probably my size. You can borrow my stuff until we get you your own.”

And, the generosity continues. This is definitely going to take some getting used to, on Lucifer’s part. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“No prob. Now let’s have us some chicken pot pie.”

It takes him a moment to register what he just agreed to (during which Dean starts dishing out their respective halves of the food Sam and Cass brought back), and then the thought of _sharing clothes_ with Dean Winchester suddenly hits him like a ton of bricks, and he backpedals as quickly as he can. “Wait, no.”

“No?” Sam and Dean speak at the same time, almost like they rehearsed it.

“No,” Lucifer replies again, this time with more conviction. “Nice try, as if I’d _ever_ be caught dead wearing flannel. Not happening.”

Dean barks a laugh, handing Lucifer his plate. “Aw, that’s too bad. I think you’d rock the flannel.”

“Not a chance Winchester, I’m not a _Lumberjack_.” The blonde protests, going to get two forks for them. He can see their little brothers smiling at them, and he really wishes they’d cut it out.

“Neither am I,” The man’s smile makes his eyes practically sparkle, and _why is that what Lucifer’s noticing right now?_ “but flannel is comfortable, and warm, and that’s all you care about, _right?”_

And, he’s using Lucifer’s own words against him. “Stop that,” Lucifer protests, and it sounds kind of whiny even to his own ears, “you’re _not_ converting me to your terrible fashion sense.”

“Says the dude with a hole in his jeans,” Dean laughs, taking his fork from Lucifer. “News flash, it’s not the nineties anymore.”

“This is different,” Lucifer gestures to himself, and his admittedly not-fashionable clothing. “My options were limited; you _choose_ to dress like that.”

“Okay, so how would _you_ dress, hotshot?”

“Easy. Leather jacket, band t-shirt, jeans.”

Again, Dean snorts, and he should probably be more worried about how easily Lucifer amuses him. “Yeah, I liked that stuff too, when I was in _high school_.”

It’s scary, how much this reminds Sam of some of his own ‘conversations’ with his brother. But if he’s being honest, he’s just glad he’s not the one being picked on right now. “Alright you two,” he’s tempted to make a jab at them involving dick size, but that could only end poorly, so he decides against it. “Cass and I already ate, so we’ll leave you guys to it.”

“We’ll just eat by the tv,” Dean answers, “you’re gonna watch Thrones with us, right?”

Dean and Lucifer’s pseudo-argument is already forgotten as Lucifer chimes in, “You too, Cass.”

The younger brothers share a look, then shrug in sync. “Yeah,” Sam smiles, heading for the kitchen’s exit. “Which episode were we on, again?”

“Six, I think. Tyrion was doing his trial by combat thing.” Lucifer follows behind him, finally trying the chicken pot pie. “Hey, this is really good.”

“It’s like you’ve never had good food before, dude.” Dean laughs, following in suit with the others. “Just how limited _were_ your options?”

“Ever lived on a dollar a day?” Sam has to wonder just how similar Dean and Lucifer are, as Lucifer doesn’t bother waiting to swallow his food before speaking.

“Ouch,” the older hunter cringes, “Sorry I asked.”

“It’s fine, I just had to get creative, is all.” Lucifer considers it an accomplishment, really. He managed to survive as a human for a damn long time, effectively all on his own. He’d never before needed to breathe, sleep, eat, wash himself, etcetera, and he made do with what he had pretty well, he thinks. It’s no simple feat, going from being nearly all-powerful, to an average adult human male.

Regardless, Dean doesn’t ask about the subject again, and their conversation ends fairly soon after that anyways, once they get to the living room and put on Game of Thrones again. Lucifer watches with rapt attention from his place between the arm of the couch and Dean. Sam is on Dean’s other side, and he has to keep hushing his older brother before he spoils stuff from the later seasons. Castiel is just as attentive as Lucifer, despite having seen the show before.

It’s a nice break from the various things they’ve been stressing over during the day. Funny, how a show that’s arguably more violent and depressing than their own lives (Dean keeps claiming he could do better), brings them all together for some good, old-fashioned family entertainment.

 

* * *

 

 

They end up watching the rest of season one, and half of season two before they turn the tv off. And they only do that, because Lucifer fell asleep again, and Sam was nodding off himself.

More specifically though, Lucifer fell asleep while leaning against Dean.

“Hey Lucifer,” Sam whispers, intending to help him back to his room, but Dean shushes his brother.

“Just let him sleep, I’ll take him to his room if he wakes up,” Dean speaks as softly as he can, not having the heart to wake the blonde up when he knows he gets nightmares on his own. At least, in Lucifer’s shoes, he’d appreciate someone letting him sleep. Lord knows how often _he_ doesn’t get enough shuteye.

“You sure?”

“Yeah; ‘night Sammy, Cass.”

“Night, Dean.” Sam yawns, heading for his room.

Castiel repeats the sentiment, heading off to his own designated room, to do… whatever it is that he does while everyone else sleeps. Dean’s considered asking him, but each time he does, he decides against it. He’s happy to just assume Castiel is watching Netflix. It’s better for his sanity than something like ‘I watch videos on YouTube about the caretaking of bees’, or whatever other crazy thing Castiel is interested in.

Dean shifts as slowly as he can, trying to make himself and Lucifer more comfortable, since he really has no intention of going anywhere until the other man wakes up. He’s already asleep, there’s no sense in waking him just to send him to a room he can’t sleep in.

Maybe Dean really should enlist Cass’ help. If it’s just company that Lucifer needs, the angel that doesn’t require any sleep would probably be a better candidate than Dean.

But… honestly, Dean doesn’t mind being Lucifer’s chaperone/company. It’s strange, since most of the people they ‘enlist’ (like Kevin, Charlie, or even Castiel), are _Sam’s_ kind of people. And Lucifer… Lucifer is most definitely more of Dean’s kind of person. It’s been a really long time since Dean’s had someone he can just… chill with, trade jokes with, the whole nine yards. That really hasn’t existed for him since Benny, and it’s seriously wearing on him. Sure, there’s always Sam, but it’s not the same.

There’s a big difference between a ‘brother’ bro, and a ‘friend’ bro. Dean’s really missed having the second kind, if he wants to be honest with himself. There’s not much room for friends in a hunter’s life, so when a good one comes along, Dean’s learned that you just have to enjoy it while it lasts. Enjoy it, and do whatever he can to keep them from slipping away.

If someone told him a year ago, that he’d be sitting on a couch with Satan sleeping on his shoulder, contemplating his rapidly growing friendship with the devil himself… Dean would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. But here he is, and he can’t deny that Lucifer is filling a blank for him, in a way he didn’t know he needed so badly.

Maybe it’s just the lack of sleep talking, but he’s really glad that he’s part of the reason his new friend is getting some peaceful sleep right now, and his hair feels kind of soft, and Deans eyelids are getting kinda heavy too…

 

* * *

 

 

Sam can’t hide his grin, not that he needs to. He really shouldn’t find it so funny, but he never thought Dean would open himself up to blackmail like this. The tall hunter snaps another picture with his phone, grinning at the sight of his brother and Lucifer practically cuddling on the couch together, where Dean must’ve fallen asleep too while he was ‘keeping watch’, or whatever it was he thought he was doing.

Lucifer had his head tucked between Dean’s shoulder and neck, and Dean’s head was resting on top, but instead of sitting up like they had been when Sam left last night, they’d somehow fallen over, kind of, so Dean was half-spooning Lucifer from behind, and Lucifer was lying mostly on the arm of the couch.

It would be cute, if it wasn’t so damn funny.

Yeah, Dean is _never_ gonna live this one down. Sam puts his phone away, heading for the kitchen and deciding not to tell Dean about the pictures until he needs them for blackmail.

Maybe he’ll set one of them as Dean’s screen saver the next time they get into a prank war. Or better yet, cover his room in the pictures.

It’ll be _glorious._


	11. Bad Moon Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I see the bad moon arising.  
> I see trouble on the way.  
> I see earthquakes and lightnin'.  
> I see bad times today.  
> \- Creedence Clearwater Revival
> 
> Gossan, the demon at the beginning of this chapter, is an unnamed demon from the show. He's played by [Lee Shorten](http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=Lee_Shorten), and is one of my favourite 'demon minions' from the show. Go ahead and click the link attached to his name if you want a reminder of which episodes he's in/what he looks like.

Being a demon kinda sucks.

You’d think once you get past the brutal torture and the eternal fires, things wouldn’t be so bad. You’d think you’d eventually get used to knowing that literally every other soul in Hell would sell you to Satan for one corn chip. And you do, to a degree.

But Hell doesn’t just… stop being Hell. This is probably what the Bible meant when it said ‘everlasting torment in the pits of damnation’. No matter how long you’re here, it never gets better.

Lately, the thing stressing everyone out is the power struggle. It’s ridiculous. Everyone hates Crowley, but he just… keeps coming back. No one can deny that he’s a tough son of a bitch (well, _witch_ , more accurately), and that he’s definitely got a knack for keeping demons in line…

But he’s still a crossroads demon, and everyone knows it. He may have been King of the Crossroads before, but that doesn’t make him qualified for King of Hell. He’s a businessman, and that makes him the slimiest kind of demon there is.

In all honesty, Abaddon wasn’t a great choice either. Whereas Crowley wasn’t aggressive enough, always going for the underhanded scheme; Abaddon was too aggressive. She would have driven Hell to the ground, and made it damn near impossible to get a human to make a deal again. She sure as hell would have been fun, but fun doesn’t always get a demon the souls they need.

It’s probably best that she didn’t win that tussle, but that didn’t stop most demons from being sad to see her go. At the same time, though, that whole mess gave Crowley a boost of support. It reminded every surviving demon of how tough he was, and how he wouldn’t tolerate disobedience.

It didn’t last long, though. Between the Dean and ‘mummy’ fiascos, Crowley lost just about all the respect he’d earned. It was really only out of laziness that nobody tried to take the throne from him. Anybody could get away with whatever they wanted to anyways, so what was the point of getting rid of him?

But when Lucifer, the _creator_ returned… Crowley really should have given up. He should’ve known he didn’t stand a chance. He should’ve known those who ‘followed’ him only did so because there was no significantly better option.

And once again, all of Hell is forced to take sides. It wasn’t a hard decision for most; who would dare stand against Lucifer himself? The Adversary, and one of the strongest things in all of creation? You’d have to be suicidal to throw your lot in with momma’s boy.

Suicidal, or really, really dumb.

Gossan believed he was neither, but he was also a gambler in his former life, so that may have something to do with his decision. It may be the end of his relatively unimpactful life, but that means little when you already hate every moment of your existence. And if his bet pays off… well, he’s sure Crowley would reward him better than Lucifer would, once the dust all settles.

He doesn’t know of many others who share his viewpoint, but then, he doesn’t expect to.

The way he sees it though, people call Crowley ‘Lucky the Leprechaun’ for a reason. He personally, doubts it has anything to do with luck at all. Gossan’s been around a long time, longer than Crowley, maybe. He’s seen a lot of shit in his time, and he knows that luck is nothing more than a myth. ‘Luck’ is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.

That’s one thing he believes he and Crowley have in common; at heart, they’re opportunists.

He gambled in his previous life, yes, but he was never a man that relied on luck alone to win. He used loaded dice, tampered decks, everything he could to turn the odds in his favour. He made himself rich that way, and eventually, he sold his corrupted soul so he’d never have to cheat at games of chance again. His deal made every game he bet on end with him as the winner.

But he still doesn’t believe in making reckless bets, and firmly believes Crowley will end out on top once more. The demon may have been disappointing as of late, but he’s smart, and he’s helped defeat Lucifer before, so who’s to say he won’t do it again? He’s the smart choice. Anyways, if it ever gets to the point where it’s clear Crowley is going to lose, Gossan can always switch sides and tell Lucifer everything he knows; pretend that he’s been playing spy the whole time. It’d be easy.

And then with the news that Lucifer lost his grace to the witch, Gossan knew he chose the right horse to bet on. Hundreds of demons flooded back to Crowley, begging for forgiveness, and hoping he didn’t discorporate them all just out of spite. But Gossan, _Gossan_ had stayed by the King’s side the whole time, and as he had hoped, he now had a place at the top of Hell’s hierarchy. It wasn’t much better than where he stood before, but ‘not much’ was still something, when every day of your existence was a trial.

And on top of his somewhat improved status, Gossan had a vessel he rather liked, too. A strong-jawed Japanese man, who matched the suits he preferred to wear better than any meat-sack he’d taken until now. He had a face that commanded attention, and managed to be quite intimidating despite his short stature. He wore the mantle of ‘second-in-command’ well, and that was most important, in Gossan’s books.

He’d traded slogging through his life, looking for a human dumb enough to sell their soul, for dealing with unruly demons and endless disputes.

And on top of that, dealing with a temperamental king. Crowley was paranoid at best, and more dramatic than a Shakespearean tragedy, at his worst.

Now, he was pacing around the throne room, completely alone, as he had demanded that his subjects leave, and then disintegrated those that didn’t move fast enough. Some fresh new demon had gone to find Gossan, warning him that the King was in a mood, and that he should probably avoid the throne room for a while.

Of course, none of those demons are Gossan, who knows better. Crowley won’t come down until he’s vented to someone.

Despite knowing this, Gossan takes his time finishing up his current task before he goes to his King. No harm in letting the drama queen stew for a bit.

When he did finally make his way to the ornate doors Crowley hadn’t bothered to lock, he found the king walking back and forth in front of his throne like a caged lion, a glass of Craig in one hand, and a half-empty bottle of the stuff in his other. He was muttering to himself, but stopped once he spotted Gossan. “Leave me, I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

Well, a gambler’s never gotten anywhere without taking risks. “I take it things didn’t go well with the Winchesters?”

“I said _leave_.” The barely-taller man seethes, tightening his grip on his glass.

Gossan will take that as a ‘no’. He still doesn’t go, however, knowing he’s earned his place with Crowley firmly enough that the other demon won’t harm him. Banish him, maybe, but Gossan can live with that. He shuts the throne room doors again, locking them with a flourish of his wrist.

“There are other ways to get him back if they won’t make a deal, my King.” He isn’t entirely sure of what’s gone on since Crowley left to find where Lucifer was hiding not so long ago. He just knows that Crowley and his hound were thrown back to hell and remained unconscious for some time before Crowley awoke and ran back to the surface to have his dog sniff out the devil. He returned after that, in another mood, though not quite as bad as this one. Gossan picked up from the context clues in his call, that Lucifer had made his way to the Winchesters, and assumed that Crowley had gone to meet with them when he next left.

It seems his assumption was correct, as his comment caused the glass in Crowley’s hand to shatter. “ _How_?” The king turned around, stalking towards where he keeps his tumblers. “He’s locked up tight in that bunker, nice and snug. We _can’t_ get in there, it’s a fortress. And I’m certain he won’t leave, not even for the bloody end of the _world_.”

“So we don’t get inside,” the slight man responds calmly, approaching Crowley while carefully keeping his distance.

“Brilliant.” The king rolls his eyes, sarcasm layering his voice. “Then _how_ , pray tell, are we supposed to get _him_ back?”

“ _We_ don’t,” unlike the man currently pouring what must be at least his tenth drink, Gossan had patience in spades. “We find someone who _can_ , and get them to break in for us.”

The king looked like he wanted to snap back with another sarcastic comment, but he suddenly stopped, and then took a considerate sip of his Scotch. “… Yes, that might work. I need to make a few house calls…” He tapped the side of his glass, then set down the bottle and looked over at his second in command. “… You know, you’re actually not _completely_ useless. Have I ever told you I like you?”

The man’s phrasing grated on Gossan’s nerves, but that’s honestly the closest any demon gets to complimenting another demon, so he accepts it with a short bow of his head. “You haven’t, no.”

“Good. Can’t have you going and getting a big head now.” The king’s tone didn’t really match his sentence, and Gossan got the impression he should consider himself in Crowley’s good graces. Which, is exactly where he wants to be right now.

So, the lower-level demon showed his appreciation with a shallow bow. “Of course not, my King. Now, if there’s nothing else you need from me, I’ll be getting back to work.”

Crowley waves his subordinate away, walking back to his throne. “I won’t keep you. Leave the doors shut, yeah?”

As Gossan straightens back up from his bow, he nods to his king. “I will.” And without further ado, the demon sweeps out of the throne room, satisfied that the horse he put his bets on is still going to win.

Crowley stays where he is for a moment longer, organising his thoughts and finishing off his glass of scotch. It’s been… just… _so_ long since he’s had a _real_ win. Stuffing Lucifer back in his god-forsaken cage was probably his most solid achievement. And even that, he didn’t do alone.

No, he needed the help of the Bloody _Winchesters,_ and really, he doesn’t mind that too much. No King has risen to the throne without _some_ assistance. It’s only to be expected.

But since then, every ‘success’ has consisted of more losses than wins. His bid to increase his power with Castiel backfired horribly. He was Castiel’s bitch, and then Dick Roman’s. And then there were the demon Trials, followed by the Abaddon fiasco… And then, it’s like that impudent demon said. He was Dean’s bitch, then Amara’s, then _Lucifer’s._ It seems like he’s had nothing but losses lately, and has only barely, by some fluke, managed to keep his place as King of Hell. A job, which, quickly lost its imaginary charm.

And all he wants is just, _one_ win. The Darkness is no longer a threat, thanks to Dean. And Lucifer is at large, but not as dangerous, thanks to his Mother. So if Crowley can just get ahold of the evil bastard, and keep him under lock and key… _that_ would be a win under his belt. And he’ll be damned again before he lets the Winchesters steal that from him.

He _had_ Lucifer. _He_ did. _Crowley_ found him, which was no easy task. Lucifer is sharp as a whip, a quick learner, and dangerously cunning. If anyone could disappear in the largely unmoderated civilisation called the US of A, it’s him.

And he _did_ disappear, quite effectively. Even with a face that should be easily picked up by the NSA, considering all the publicity in his town when he went missing, even with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and the contents of a washed-out Rockstar’s wallet… He effectively became a ghost in the system. The only reason Crowley found him is because he made a tiny mistake, one which wasn’t even a guarantee that he’d be caught from. If Crowley hadn’t had someone look into that non-existent FBI agent (he honestly just thought it might be a hunter, or even a Winchester, and thought it _might_ be useful information to keep filed away in case they ever cross paths), if Crowley had just brushed it aside like he had so many other non-leads, he wouldn’t have found Lucifer when he did. Maybe never, if Lucifer continued to be as paranoid as he’d been. Crowley just considers himself very lucky that Lucifer didn’t switch cars. If he had, that lead would have just turned into yet _another_ dead end.

And he _had_ Lucifer, but he got too cocky. Once again, Crowley’s ambition and pride got in the way of his success. He won’t make that same mistake again.

If—

No, _when,_ he catches Lucifer, there won’t be any more messing around. The devil won’t know what hit him. He better enjoy his relative freedom while it lasts, because when Crowley gets his hands on him… Lucifer will finally know what it’s like to be someone else’s bitch.

 

* * *

 

 

“Mission report, Mister Davies.”

The prim, overtly feminine voice still sets his nerves on edge, but he’s sure she can smell fear even across the pond, so he doesn’t let it show. “Well, Madame Doctor, I’d call it a success. Mary Winchester was very receptive, and Sam seems to be somewhat sympathetic as well. The Angel was skeptical, but I’m sure that if—apologies, _when_ I convince Sam and Dean Winchester, he, and many of the American hunters will follow.”

“Hmm,” And the disapproval in her tone is obvious enough. Mick knows his plan was not a popular one amongst the council, but he did get permission to attempt converting the American Hunters, and he intends to follow through with it. There’s no sense in starting from scratch when there’s a large number of semi-organised people already doing this job. And there’s no sense in adding hunters to the list of things that need killing in the States. Still, he knew his opinion was not shared by Doctor Hess, along with many of his other associates. So it surprised him when she didn’t go off on him, scolding him for his plan not producing the results she wants. “See that she is secured as an ally, and get to work on the others. _Whatever_ means necessary, Mister Davies. I want results.”

“… Yes ma’am.” Mick sighs, responding a second after she cuts the video call off.

Ketch gives him a sympathetic pat on the back. “That’s how she says ‘good job’, mate. Your way is making progress—; that’s more than Bevell could say.” Mick didn’t even hear him enter the room—the mark of a true huntsman.

Mick rolls his eyes with a quiet ‘harrumph’. “If it weren’t for that damn woman, I wouldn’t _have_ to fight this uphill battle. Now every hunter and their _mother_ thinks we’re evil, moral-less pricks. You should have heard them, at the diner. The _nerve_.”

“Well, look at it this way,” Mr Ketch starts, setting his gun case on the thus-far unused conference table. “When you win over the hunters, it’ll just be that much more impressive. And _do_ make it quick, won’t you? This shack is losing its charm, and we’re terribly shorthanded.”

It _is_ true that they’re short on manpower. They’ve got a measly two people for analytics/operations, Mick trying to both run the mission and play field agent, and Ketch as their only _real_ field agent. Bevell and Watt were supposed to be in the field too, but, for obvious reasons, they are no longer a part of this mission. “I’m working on it, Ketch—“

“Mick, we’ve been slumming together for three months. Please, it’s Arthur.”

“Yes, of course. Too right. Arthur…” Mick massages his temple, watching as his fellow Man of Letters flips the case open to start cleaning his favourite gun—he even named the thing; Lorelai, which, loosely translated, means Song of Death. It’s… fitting. “… In any case, Mary is practically on board. I’ll just give her a few days of talking, a chance to ask some questions, before I send her out to hunt with you. I think you’ll like her, she’s very… practical. Focused.”

[Lorelai more accurately translates to “A siren who sings and lures man to their deaths”, in case you go to check it and call me on my bullshit.]

“Mhm.” The other dark-haired man continues with his task, seemingly neither impressed nor unimpressed by Mick’s description. “I’m sure that as long as she can handle a weapon and knows her werewolves from her skinwalkers, we’ll get on just fine.”

“Well, she’s… certainly that. Just promise me you won’t scare her, Arthur? These Americans don’t approve of… undue violence.”

That earned him something resembling a laugh from the other man, though it was too short and too quiet. “My, what kind of brute do you take me for, Mister Davies? I assure you, I know how to treat a lady.”

“That’s not—” Mick would very much like to bang his head against a wall. “You know what I—your _methods_ are somewhat… unconventional.”

“I’ll have you know my _methods_ are—”

“Yes, _alright_ , that’s quite enough, _thank you._ ”

And this time the laugh that followed didn’t set Mick’s nerves on edge. More genuine, less controlled. Good to know that making others incredibly uncomfortable seems to bring out the inner human from Mister Ketch’s generally inhumanly robotic demeanour. Bloody sadist.

Mick excuses himself quickly, mumbling something about the financial report he still needs to submit, and leaving Ketch to his gun. On the way back to his office, he shoots Mary Winchester a text.

**> This is Mick Davies. Did you get home alright?**

Mary doesn’t make him wait long before she responds.

**< Yeah. Looking for my next case.**

**> Good to hear. Let me know if you need any help.**

As much as Mick would love to just send her to one of the many monsters they’ve picked up on, he knows he needs to build a little trust before he starts treating her like one of his field agents. That means letting her come to him first, and going from there.

**< Ok**

She seemed like a sensible woman, at least. Hopefully it won’t take too long. He’s on a deadline, and there’s an awful lot at stake if he doesn’t meet it.

As for now, there’s plenty more for him to do while he waits on her.

 

* * *

 

 

Doctor Hess ended the call quickly, despite having more to say on the subject. She had a sudden, uninvited but important guest, and she’d rather not be talking about her pet project with him around. She’ll just chew Mick out next time, if he doesn’t produce any better results.

Swiftly, she shuts the monitor off, and stands, eyeing her finely-dressed intruder with no small amount of annoyance. “Mister Crowley,” she lifts her chin in acknowledgement, hands slipping into her pocket to touch her exorcism-in-a-can (as the initiates have dubbed it), “I assume you have a good reason for interrupting me in the middle of a business call.”

“Ah, Adolpha Hess. All work, no play as always, I see.” The demon king sighs to himself with mock-sadness, crossing his arms and leaning back on the wall he appeared in front of. “I suppose it’s fortunate then, that I’m here on business as well. I know about your little project in the states, and I want to discuss terms. I assume we can both agree to the same deal in America as what we have here. _But,_ do as I ask, and I’ll pull out of England entirely. Demon-free, you have my guarantee. And, as a little bonus, I’ll lend your little cub scouts in, where was it… St Charles? Yes, St Charles, Illinois—if I recall correctly—a hand with their Winchester problem.”

Crowley has a way of getting on a woman’s nerves… but she had been hoping they could just keep their deal in America the same. And she’s curious, too, about what Crowley could possibly want so badly as to let go of England entirely. “Make that all of the UK, and I’m listening, Crowley.”

The Demon King pursed his lips slightly, weighing his options. All of the UK is a big part of his business. Second only to the States, really… He could afford to eat England, but all the UK?...

Yes, he decides. For this, he’s willing. “… Fine. I’ll pull out of the UK. Demons won’t even respond to those that call us to make deals. What I want is very simple. I need to get inside the bunker in Kansas. That means, I need you to have your men distract the Winchesters and their pet angel somehow, and I need the warding disrupted. Think you can manage that?”

Well… Like he said, what he wanted seemed very simple. What could possibly be inside that bunker that’s valuable enough to him to offer what he has? “… Before I agree, what’s in there? What do you want so badly?”

“That’s _my_ business, Adolpha.” His tone warns her not to push the subject.

It’s not in Hess’ nature to accept deals where she doesn’t know all of the terms, but this is a particularly good one. “… We will help you get in _once._ Give me your word that if whatever you’re looking for isn’t there, or you fail to get it, our standard deal still stands in the UK and the States.”

“Yes, of course.” Crowley waves her off, “Consider my word yours. Now, do we have a deal?”

The redhead nods, somewhat reluctant, but mostly pleased with the terms. “We do. I’ll contact you when I have all the pieces in place.”

“See that it’s done quickly.” Crowley nods, and then between one blink and the next, is gone.

Whatever he wants, must be big. But as long as he’s out of her territory, well… it’s not her problem.

So, she starts writing up a mission statement for her operatives in the states. Mick better do a more bang-up job on this than he’s been doing with the hunters.

 

* * *

 

 

[The Bunker, three weeks after we last saw our boys]

Lucifer dodges another swing with less than a second to spare, feeling the air blow by his ear as a fist takes up the space his head had just been in. This isn’t good, Lucifer is slowing down too much. It’s only a matter of time before one of his opponent’s fists catches him.

He makes to grab the arm before it can draw back, but the other is too fast, and the limb is ripped from his grasp before he can get a good hold on it.

Seeing a blow coming towards his left side, Lucifer quick-steps back and goes for a spin-kick to the man’s side. Again, his attempt is thwarted as his opponent dodges backwards, putting a good two feet between them.

The reprieve is somewhat welcome. Neither combatant makes a move to get back into close quarters for a moment, and instead they circle one another, both looking for even the slightest opening for attack.

Lucifer sees the other tense up, and reads the action as the precursor of a kick to his left. In response, Lucifer shifts his guard that way in preparation, only to realise his mistake a second too late as the man darts forward, right foot forward, and delivers a left hook to Lucifer’s right side.

The former archangel releases a sharp exhale as he takes yet another solid hit. Damnit, he’s getting sloppy.

He tries to salvage his mistake by gripping his fists together and swinging with all his power towards his opponent’s temporarily open right side.

The hit lands, rather satisfyingly, and Lucifer is rewarded with a pained gasp.

It’s not enough to knock the other man away, however, and now Lucifer is thrown well-off balance. He doesn’t have time to jump back or block the knee that comes up to meet his side, or to regain his balance before the rest of the leg follows, sending him off his feet and down to the ground with a jaw-shuddering thud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a tumblr, and you want to be updated when I post new chapters, check out [this post](https://carvcredlund.tumblr.com/post/162215093794/resilience-update)!


	12. Can't Fight this Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I can't fight this feeling any longer  
> And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow  
> What started out as friendship has grown stronger  
> I only wish I had the strength to let it show  
> \- REO Speedwagon

_Thud._

Lucifer hits the ground flat on his back, and he could swear he saw stars for a second. That one knocked the wind out of him, so he takes a bit to catch his breath before he does anything.

When he successfully gets his breathing back to normal, a rather unattractive-sounding groan leaves his throat, and then he starts to push himself back up. He takes the hand offered to him, and glares half-heartedly at the person attached to it as he’s helped back to his feet. “Again. You’re holding back.”

“Holding back?” Dean snorts, his other hand rubbing his side where Lucifer had gotten him with that solid, double-handed swing. “That’s the fifth time in a row I’ve kicked your ass. Don’t you need a break?” And while it’s true, a knockout like the one he just gave Lucifer should have left the man fully unconscious, not mildly inconvenienced. He _is_ holding back.

“It’s not _your_ ass getting kicked, why are you complaining?” Lucifer stretches his arms above his head, cringing a little internally as he feels his back pop. “Tired already, Dean?”

That had the desired effect. The hunter rolls his eyes, then puts his fists up with a huff. “Yeah, you _wish_ , buddy.”

Lucifer mirrors him, grinning despite the aching in his muscles (particularly his back).

They’d started doing this about a week ago. It had taken Lucifer the better part of two weeks to recover from his injuries and whatever he was sick with. Once he’d started to feel more like a person, and less like a hunk of tenderised meat, he was constantly doing things. It was like the man had something against sitting still.

Not long after Lucifer recovered his health, Dean would catch him awake before anyone else. Whether that was due to insomnia, or just being a morning person, Lucifer didn’t elaborate. He did have a tendency to turn in around 9, So Dean hoped it just had to do with him liking to start his day early.

But beyond just being up before Dean, Lucifer found things to do while he was locked up in his room, waiting for a Winchester to wake up. That Winchester was usually Dean, lately, since Sam and Lucifer still didn’t quite get along comfortably on their own, and Castiel has the unfortunate weakness of banishing sigils. So generally, when there’s a case to be worked, the sensible choice is to send Sam and Castiel, and let Dean stay behind.

But by this point, it’s not even a matter of not trusting Lucifer. It’s just become the norm. And it works out just fine. Without sides separating them, Dean and Lucifer get along surprisingly well, and the cases get solved just as quickly with Sam and Castiel working them.

But, even knowing the world kept turning while he wasn’t hunting so much, Dean got restless. So when he saw Lucifer doing sets in his room after unlocking the door for him, he thought to himself ‘hey, that’s not such a bad idea’. And when he asked if Lucifer would spot for him if he spotted for Lucifer, the blonde offered him one better.

_~~~_

_“Why don’t we spar? Same amount of exercise; less routine-like, more engaging.”_

_And well, it sounded like a pretty good idea, when put that way. But Lucifer just recovered from some serious injuries, and not to mention a nasty flu (at least, they’re pretty sure it was the flu). “We should probably stick to just working out for now, Lucifer.”_

_Lucifer hadn’t stopped doing his routine when Dean made his offer. He was shirtless, wearing just a pair of sweatpants he’d stolen from Dean. His bruises had since faded, the cuts on his arm were nothing but mostly-healed pink lines, and stitches for his bullet wound on the same arm had come out as well. His tattoos showed more than anything else; the two matching rings just above his elbows, dark red, almost black; The anti-possession tat over his heart; and the lines of Enochian on his ribcage that looked like scripture to anyone who didn’t know better._

_From the way he’s able to keep doing crunches while talking to Dean, it’s pretty clear this is something he’s done regularly, even before coming to the bunker. It shows, too. While Dean wouldn’t say Lucifer is ripped or anything close to that, he’s definitely more in shape than Dean remembers that vessel being. Dean thought he might’ve just been remembering wrong, but it’s nice to have a reason for the change. It fits with Lucifer’s general MO, too. He’s really taken the whole ‘I have one body (now), I better treat it well’ thing to heart._

_But, when Dean tries to back out of sparring, Lucifer pauses for a second in order to sit up and shoot Dean an amused look. “Why? Afraid to get your ass handed to you? Don’t wanna get beaten up by a_ nerd? _” The smirk on his face just made the way he extended one leg and loosely hugged the other even more infuriatingly cocky._

_The opposite, actually… but them’s fightin’ words. “Okay, one,” Dean holds his two fingers up for Lucifer. “It’s on, you asked for it. And two,” He puts down his index finger, leaving just his middle finger up, “Fuck you, you cocky sonofabitch.”_

_That day, they didn’t so much spar, as they did wrestle with one another, and laugh an awful lot more than one would expect from two men who are_ supposed _to be fighting. Sam came out of the kitchen just to tell them to cut it out and keep it down._

_~~~_

Lucifer’s breath was still a bit short from Dean knocking the wind out of him, and they were both tired, so the match was much shorter this time. Dean managed to sweep Lucifer’s legs out from under him, and pin him to the ground before he could get up again. It wasn’t quite a conventional pinning however, as Lucifer had fallen onto his back again, and Dean was holding him by his wrists, one on either side of his head.

Which left their faces a little too close for comfort.

Lucifer made an attempt to roll them over, but didn’t succeed in doing anything more than struggle underneath Dean for a second or two before giving up and letting his head drop back onto the ground. He huffed indignantly at the hunter’s amused grin, and Dean could feel the other’s breath on his face. “Alright, okay. You win. Now get _off_ of me.”

Dean snorted at the other’s tone, and they were still close enough for Lucifer to feel it. The other sounds _offended_ by the fact that he lost again (he doesn’t _always_ lose; it’s usually about 50/50, but today Dean was really on his game), and Dean was struggling not to think about how endearing that is. Dean’s struggling with a lot of things right now. Most of which involve convincing himself that this is a heterosexual activity. The rest of which involve not thinking about Lucifer’s lips, those bright _so very blue_ eyes, or his flushed face, or how close they are right now.

Fuck, too late.

Dean… Well, Dean’s known that he’s bisexual for a while now. He’s generally more interested in the ‘tits and ass’ variety, but occasionally a guy will come around and make Dean think ‘yeah, I’d tap that.’ He never acted on it though, not until he traded all his morals and inhibitions for black eyes. And he’s tried to forget that part of his life… but he can’t. He’s tried to tell himself that it wasn’t him, not really… but it was. The only thing being a demon did to him, was let him do what he wanted. Whatever he wanted. _Whoever_ he wanted. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the men just as much as he did the women.

He’s been so reluctant to admit it to himself, but it’s kind of hard to deny when he’s spending so much of his time around someone who appeals to nearly all his tastes. Not only physically (tall, tanned skin, blue eyes, it always gets him), but personality-wise, too (always been a sucker for his particular brand of humour, and anyone with a sassy, feisty disposition). If Lucifer were anyone but… well, _Lucifer_ … Dean wouldn’t be just talking to the other man right now. As it is, he’s not very inclined to move at the moment.

“Alright princess, but only if you’re making that thing you saw on the Food Network yesterday for lunch.” That’s another thing he’s found out about Lucifer. After catching him up on Game of thrones, he spent most of his downtime learning how to cook. The first few times he tried, it wasn’t terrible, but the dishes obviously didn’t turn out like they were supposed to. But he’s evidently a very quick learner, and he’s gotten much better. So _much_ better, that Dean seriously looks forward to when Lucifer makes food for them.

And that’s another thing. Though he’s sure Lucifer isn’t aiming for it, the way to Dean’s heart has always been through food. And Lucifer made _pie_ last night. They’ve still got a few slices left (they had it for breakfast, too), And it certainly beats the store-bought stuff. _Pie_. _Apple_ pie. And Dean didn’t even have to ask. When Sam asked what he made it for (because usually, pie is kind of a treat around here), all he said was ‘Well, Pie is delicious.’

Really. Lucifer _gets_ Dean. He can stay as long as he wants, as far as Dean’s concerned.

Lucifer’s brow wrinkled ( _adorable_ ) as he tried to remember what Dean was referring to. “… you want Macaroni and Cheese?”

“Yeah, but, baked, with the breadcrumbs and stuff. Adult Mac’n’Cheese.” Lucifer needs to hurry up and tell Dean he will already, or it’s gonna be pretty obvious real soon, how much Dean likes being all on top of Lucifer like this.

The blonde rolls his eyes at the endearing description, giving a shrug of his shoulders. “Fine. ‘Adult Mac’n’Cheese’ it is. Now get off me, you oaf.”

“Oaf? Ouch.” The former archangel probably would have done it anyways if Dean had just asked him to, but this way Dean gets a little more fun out of it. As per their ‘deal’, he rolls off of his newest friend and lays back on the floor next to him, knowing that Lucifer will probably stay there for a minute longer. “Y’know, lots of people would be _happy_ to have me pin them to the floor.” When he catches Lucifer turning his head to look at him incredulously in his peripheral vision, he turns his own head to wink jokingly.

“Pfft,” Lucifer responds maybe a second too late, “They can _have_ you. You’re a heavy motherfucker, Dean Winchester.”

Said hunter laughs at the response, arching his back to stretch a little as he laces his hands behind his head. “Youch. That hurts, Luce. There’re nicer ways to let a guy down, y’know.”

He didn’t stop smiling though, and he could feel Lucifer watching him in confusion from the corner of his eye. After a long moment, the blonde shakes his head and joins him in staring at the ceiling. “I give up. I can’t tell if you’re serious, or just fucking with me.”

Dean knows he’s getting dangerously close to letting Lucifer know how he feels about him… and he’s not quite ready to do that yet. He doesn’t even know if Lucifer likes dudes, not for sure. Sure, he seems to act a… certain way, sometimes. But that doesn’t really mean anything. And Dean wants to know he actually has a chance before he takes it. “Dude, when am I ever serious?”

He’s not looking at Lucifer directly, but he thinks he can see the other’s shoulders relax a little. “You sure take eating seriously, Winchester.” He turns his head to smile at his friend. “And kicking ass.”

Dean’s cheeks were starting to ache a little from smiling, “Don’t you know it, bud.” Unfortunately, Lucifer’s response didn’t tell him much. Is he relaxing because he wanted Dean to be joking? Or is he thinking along Dean’s lines, and just doesn’t want to risk outing himself? Did Dean just imagine that? Fuck. When did this turn into middle school crush bullshit? Before he can get himself all worked up, Dean pushes himself up to sitting, and Lucifer follows. “Let’s go get showered, then you can tell me what I need to grab from the store. …You’re welcome to come with and wait in the car.” They warded the impala together one day (Dean’s learned an awful lot about warding since the blonde got here), so Lucifer knows it’s safe. And he’s been stuck in the bunker for over three weeks now… He’s gotta want some fresh air at some point, right?”

Wrong. Lucifer shakes his head in response, not elaborating. “I’ll be fine here. A shower sounds good though.” He gets to his feet, and then extends Dean a hand to help him up. Dean takes it, and maybe holds his hand for a second longer than necessary. Lucifer doesn’t pull his away immediately, not minding at all. But once their hands drop away from one another, he turns Dean around by his shoulder, and gives him a push towards his room. “You need it. You stink. Go.”

Dean laughs, not arguing as he heads for his room. “Yeah? You’re no better, princess.”

“Would you _stop_ calling me that?”

“When you stop being one, maybe I will!”

The only response was a groan, and Dean knew without looking that Lucifer gave him the bird, then started heading for his own room. A total diva princess. The clear mental image made him laugh harder, and maybe a little more hysterically, because if someone had told him even a year ago that he’d know Satan well enough to predict what he’s doing without looking, well… He probably would have shot them in their face.

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel’s phone went off, playing the loud kiss-noise that Lucifer had set as his personalised text tone, and that Castiel hadn’t figured out how to (or honestly, really bothered to) fix yet. The angel sighs, checking the device as Sam glances over at him from the driver’s seat.

As expected, it’s Lucifer, who has taken up texting him fairly often while he’s out on a case. Usually it’s with relevant information about the monster, but like now, sometimes he just sends him little notes about what he’s doing, or asking him how the case is going. In this case, Lucifer wants to know if they’re heading back now, or if he should wait a while to make lunch, so it’ll be hot when they get home.

**> making adult macncheese for lunch, u heading back now?**

**< Adult macncheese?**

His brother has an odd habit of giving things names that he understands, but don’t mean much to Castiel. He’s sure Lucifer gets it from Dean.

**> yeah, here, like this. **

**> [img]**

Castiel waits for the image to load, only to get a stream of texts from Lucifer before it can.

 **>** **n**

**> *no**

**> shi t**

**> wait**

**> nt that**

**> duck**

**> *FUCK**

**> wrong pic**

**> ignore that pls**

**> here**

**> [img]**

****

And well, Castiel isn’t usually one to pry… but what could Lucifer possibly have sent him to make him react like that? Out of curiosity, he scrolls back up to look, and…

**> [img]**

****

Huh. Castiel cocks his head at the picture, surreptitiously turning his screen to be angled so Sam wouldn’t catch sight of it.

**< … Brother, why do you have a picture of dean shirtless?**

He didn’t get a reply right away, and had to wait almost a minute for Lucifer to answer, despite the message telling him Lucifer has read it.

**> in case I need blackmail. I’m sorry. **

**> I’ll delete it.**

Castiel gets the feeling that Lucifer is lying. A week or two ago, maybe he would have believed it… but after seeing how well Lucifer and Dean get along? Why would Lucifer need, let alone _want_ , blackmail on him? He takes a while to reply back, carefully considering his phrasing.

**< It’s okay. Just make sure you delete it. I won’t tell. **

**< Sam and I will be home in about two hours, according to the gps.**

**> k**

**> thanks bro.**

Castiel shakes his head and locks his phone, spinning it between two fingers thoughtfully.

Sam glances over at him again, raising an eyebrow before looking back at the road. “What are you smiling about?”

Huh. He didn’t even realise he was smiling, until Sam pointed it out. The angel shrugs, “Lucifer is making something he calls ‘Adult macncheese’ for lunch.” He tried to say it all as one word, and it came out kind of funny, but Sam understood anyways.

“Oh, like baked, with the breadcrumbs and stuff?” Sam nods, not opposed to the choice at all. He didn’t eat Lucifer’s food at first… but even he had to admit it was silly to turn down the food made for all of them, especially when Lucifer made a point to always take the first bite. And, hey. He’s not a half-bad cook.

“That’s what it looked like in the picture,” Castiel unlocks his phone to pull the photo up.

“He already made it?”

Showing his screen to Sam, Castiel shakes his head. “I believe it was just an example.”

The hunter just nods again, not sparing the phone more than a few seconds’ glance. The picture looked pretty damn good; hopefully Lucifer’s will live up to it.

He’s long past the point of wondering what kind of life he has, to be looking forward to lunch that the devil himself cooked. If he over-analyses it, he’ll just go nuts. It’s easier to just accept what life throws at him, at this point, and make the best of it. “Did you tell him to wait up for us?”

The angel responds with some amusement, “Of course I did.” And that sounded like the end of the conversation… but a few moments later, Castiel spoke up again, deciding he wasn’t done. “I have something to confess.”

“Hm?” His solemn tone doesn’t really throw Sam off anymore. He’s used to it by now, with how seriously Cass takes everything. He’ll use the same ‘giving a eulogy at my mother’s funeral’ tone whether he’s talking about the weather or the end of the world. It’s kind of endearing, actually. And very uniquely _Castiel._ Sam doesn’t know anyone else who can speak so seriously all the time, and he’s come to appreciate this particular quirk of his friend’s. Brutal honesty and simple focus, 24/7. He’s a guy that gets to the point. “Shoot.”

Though, this particular point nearly makes Sam crash the car. “I suspect my brother may have a… romantic interest in Dean.”

 

* * *

 

With Dean gone getting the groceries they needed, Lucifer turned on the radio in the kitchen and took a minute to go through his photo library and delete the embarrassing number of pictures he’d taken of Dean. He’s only had the phone for about a week and a half… and yet, he already had over twenty pictures of the man.

Most of them were nothing special, just moments when the other man wasn’t looking, usually also on his phone, or watching the television. Moments when he looked so… relaxed, and open. Carefree, almost, and Lucifer couldn’t help but want to save the moment. What a sentimental creature he’s become.

He flipped through them all, regretful that he had to delete them. Castiel almost certainly was going to check his phone when he gets back, and… what would he think if he saw all this?

The rest of his pictures were fairly innocuous. Example pictures of meals he wanted to cook, screenshots of some bit of lore he found, things he’d saved from the internet (he thought the puppies were cute okay? Sue him.)

All in all, it only took him about five minutes to find all the Dean pictures, and delete them. It would’ve taken less time, but he wanted to get a good look at each one. Especially the one he took today (from the living room), when Dean came out of the hallway where his room is located, looking for the shirt he’d discarded onto the floor before they started sparring. Lucifer was already on his phone, and it only took two swipes to get to the camera app and snap a picture. It was a nice picture, too, even though he accidentally swiped to the black-and-white filter (it’s a finicky interface). ~~But if he’s being honest, _especially_ because of the filter.~~

Too bad that the next thing he happened to put in his camera roll was a picture of ‘grown-up macaroni’. Stupid clumsy fingers, hitting the wrong image.

Ah, well. No use in lamenting them now. They’re gone, and at least Castiel isn’t going to rat him out. He doesn’t think he could _survive_ the embarrassment.

Ugh, what is his life?

Making lunch for humans, silently pining over a man who makes jokes that are crude enough to make God himself blush. His best friend is a _ghost_ for Christ’s sake. And he’s not even _around_ most of the time. He’s hiding in a bunker from a demon he should be able to squish. He has a phone, and a brother whom he texts regularly…

In some ways, it’s surreal, and it will hit him all at once like a ton of bricks. But most of the time, the strangeness of it all doesn’t even cross his mind.

Leaving the radio on, he wanders back to the living room, hopping over the back of the couch and flopping down on the other side. He taps the corner of his phone against his forehead, trying not to think about how close he came to accidentally kissing Dean Winchester.

God, he’s _such_ a girl.

He should be able to squash this… this _fascination_. There’s no reason he should think he has a snowball’s chance with the hunter. Dean just… bleeds heterosexuality.

And then there’s the little problem that he’s _Satan_ , and there’s enough baggage just in that statement to sink his chances.

But then Dean goes and says things like ‘There’re nicer ways to let a guy down, y’know’, and Lucifer gets his hopes up. Of course, he was just joking, like he tends to do… But for a second there he had hoped Dean would surprise him. And when he didn’t… Lucifer tried not to let his disappointment show, kept his smile, but couldn’t keep his shoulders from slumping a little.

Hopefully Dean didn’t notice.

Seriously, he _has_ to stop thinking about that man. It’s going to drive him insane.

Well.

 _More_ insane.

Lucifer keeps tapping the edge of his phone on his forehead, enjoying the distraction the repetitive thumping creates.

_Thump, thump, thump… thud, thud, thud…_

It takes Lucifer a few moments too long to realise that the noise he’s hearing isn’t his own tapping. Someone is knocking on the front door. “… what the hell…?”

He sits up, looking over at the door which has stayed shut for three solid weeks.

When the knocking resumes, he gets to his feet, heading for the door with morbid curiosity. Dean only left maybe ten minutes ago. There’s no way he’s back already. Sam and Cass are two hours out still. So… “Hello? Who is it?”

Part of him kind of wishes he had a gun on hand, or even just a knife.

The knocking stops as he gets closer to the door and asks again, and a distinctly feminine voice that he doesn’t recognise calls back, “Sam? Dean? Castiel? Who is that?”

Well. She seems to know who lives here. And is familiar enough with them to expect them to open the door when she knocks. Lucifer thinks about texting Castiel to ask if they’re expecting anyone, and then decides against it. “… None of the above.” Against his better judgement, he unlocks the door, cracking it open to peek at the person outside. “I asked first. Who are you?”

She was blonde, whoever she was. And not tall, but she still carried an unmistakeable air of authority. An air which only grew when she cocked a gun at him. “Mary Winchester. Now who the hell are you, and what have you done with my boys?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the cliffhangers, guys. I promise I'm getting these chapters done a lot faster now, though. The story is finally picking up ^-^
> 
> *excitement*
> 
> And for those of you who want an asexual Lucifer, I do have another little plot bunny in mind, so I may write out a short thing for it soon here; keep your eyes peeled. <3  
> And while I'm doing the whole 'shameless self-promotion'thing, check out 'Bait'! It's a one-shot about teen Dean on a hunt with John, and I think you'll like it <3 <3 <3
> 
> Have a great week!


	13. Age of Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These times are heavy  
> And you're all alone.  
> The battle's over  
> But the war goes on.  
> \- Black Sabbath
> 
> Here, have this on a Friday because I meant to upload it last week. *the inconsistency continues*

“Who the hell _are_ you, and what have you done with my boys?” Mary repeats herself, using the man’s momentary surprise to push her way into the bunker. He doesn’t seem particularly threatening, and he isn’t armed, so she refrains from shooting him.

Instead of answering, the blonde man responds with a question of his own. “Wow, you’re their mom? _Mary Winchester_. I’ve heard lots about you. Big fan. You did some real good work with those two rascals.”

Mary pokes him in the centre of his chest with her handgun, causing him to raise his hands in a sign of surrender. “ _Answer_ me. What are you doing here? Where are Sam and Dean?”

“Oh, they’re out. Sam’s hunting with Castiel, Dean’s grocery shopping.” He keeps his hands raised, eyeing the gun in her hand warily. “And I could ask you the same question, momma Winchester. I _live_ here, but aren’t you supposed to be busy enjoying the single, kid-free hunter’s life?” And maybe his tone is a little accusatory, but he could hardly be blamed, after hearing so much about how she abandoned them from Dean by now; far more than he ever wanted to hear on the subject.

The response evidently doesn’t earn him any brownie points with her, as she presses the muzzle of her gun a little harder into his chest, and narrows her eyes. “You still haven’t answered my first question. Who. Are. You.”

Lucifer doesn’t dare lower his hands, and mentally reminds himself to give the Winchester boys an earful about this. Their half of the deal is that he’s supposed to be _safe_ here. And yet, They’ve apparently given their distrustful mother an open invitation to come visit, without letting her know that they have a fourth resident here.

He debates how much he should tell her, obviously ruling out his more notorious name as an option. “… I’m Lou. One of Castiel’s brothers. I’ve been helping the boys out, and they’re letting me stay here. They’ve told you about the situation with Heaven, haven’t they?” The blank look on her face is the only answer he needs, “Nice. Well, the long and short of it is; things are bad upstairs. This place is safe from all the civil war, so I’m throwing my lot in with Castiel until things blow over. I’m on your side. Questions? Can you put the gun down now?”

Mary looks like she’s considering it, but her instincts tell her not to trust this guy unless someone she knows tells her he’s safe. For all she knows, he could be making all this up, and her boys could be dead in the next room. “… I want to hear it from Sam or Dean.” She’s not about to take a hand off her gun to get her phone, and conveniently, one of Lou’s hands is occupied by his own. “You say you know them, call one. Prove it.”

And well, this much is easy. Nodding, and not making any sudden movements, Lucifer unlocks his phone, and calls Castiel, since he knows his brother has his phone nearby, and will most likely pick it up quickly.

 

* * *

 

The car swerves on the empty road as Sam turns to Castiel in surprise. Right. He’s driving. Sam decides he better pull over for this conversation. Once he does, he shuts off the radio and turns to face Castiel with a shocked expression, and an incredulous tone to match; “ _What?”_

At least Castiel has the decency to look apologetic. “I didn’t mean to concern you, it’s just a theory.” **_[[… A GA[Y]ME THEORY!!! …i am trash.]]_**

That doesn’t really ease Sam’s worries at all. The hunter stares at his friend for a moment, as if to say ‘… are you serious?’ But instead of voicing that thought, he approaches the subject a bit more tactfully. “Okay, Cass… Where are you even getting that ‘theory’ from?”

The angel chewed the inside of his cheek, and Sam doesn’t think he’s ever seen his friend look so indecisive. “… He seems to very much prefer Dean to either of us staying behind. And yesterday, he texted me to ask what Dean’s favourite food was, and then made Apple Pie, as I suggested. And… I promised not to tell, but he accidentally sent me a picture he had taken of Dean. He said it was blackmail but… I don’t believe he was being truthful. I believe he took it because he liked the way Dean looked in it... What do you think?”

And… yeah, that seemed pretty crazy. Now that Castiel put forth evidence like that… Sam could see how he drew that conclusion too. “… Can I see the picture?”

“No, I deleted the message, and he said he’d delete the photo too.” A beat of silence passes before he continues, a little more quietly. “Please don’t bring it up to him, Sam. I …enjoy having a somewhat close relationship with my brother, and if he finds out I broke my promise to tell no one about the—”

“I get it, no worries,” Sam cuts Castiel off, and then sighs, slumping back down in his seat. “Dude, what the hell… I mean, I knew Lucifer liked Dean, but _this?_ I… I just don’t know, Cass. Do you really think he’s got a… a _crush_ on my brother?”

“Would I bring it up if I didn’t?” Castiel’s tone is as solemn as ever, though this time it really does fit his words. “Of course, I could be reading into it too much…”

The hunter shakes his head slightly, finally dropping his hands from the steering wheel to put the car into park. Not the Impala; but one of the old cars the Men of Letters left in the garage, that Dean managed to get running. “No, you have good instincts, trust them.”

Castiel nods, and stays silent, sensing that Sam needed a moment to think through it.

Sam runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face as he processes the possibility of Satan— _Lucifer--_ crushing on his brother… and thinking hard about how Dean’s been acting since Lucifer joined them. Is there any possibility his brother could feel the same way? …Sam wishes he could tell himself no for sure, but… he just can’t. His brother hides it pretty well from most people, but Sam knows him better than anyone. Sam knows his favourite movies, his favourite songs, his favourite foods, what buttons to push to piss him off, and what things to say to calm him down… and especially what kind of people he’s interested in. _People_ , because he realised a long time ago that Dean didn’t save his appreciative glances just for women. Just because Sam hasn’t caught Dean spending the night with any men yet, doesn’t mean it’s never happened.

In particular, he remembers one easy hunt a few years back. Dean was distracted the whole time, and it took Sam a while to figure out why. He was lucky it was a simple case, honestly, because he doubts Dean could’ve stayed focused enough to handle a real fight.

—It was the cop they were working with. He mentioned that the first victim was his ex-boyfriend; that they’d broken up a few months earlier. He was determined to help them find the man’s killer, and they ended up spending a lot of time working with him over the few days they spent solving the case and locating the vengeful spirit’s bones.

The man was funny, classically attractive, tall, tanned, well-built, and flirted almost non-stop with Dean after asking and being assured that he wasn’t in a relationship with Sam or anyone else. It’s almost sad, in hindsight, how quickly the man pegged his brother as not straight, when it took Sam—who was practically _raised_ by Dean—years to notice the same thing.

Sam’s reasonably sure Dean didn’t take the officer up on any of the dates he asked him out on… but his brother didn’t shut the man down, either. Not that Sam saw, anyways. He didn’t seem uncomfortable with the attention either, and Sam could swear he even saw his brother blush at some of the compliments the man gave him.

That’s really when it set in for him that his brother wasn’t straight. It was obvious that he was still pretty deep in the closet, but suddenly the ‘gay jokes’ he teased Dean with on occasion seemed an awful lot less funny. After that, he did his best not to make Dean feel like he wouldn’t be accepted if he came out. No more teasing, no making even _slightly_ derogatory comments towards the queer community, not that he made a habit of that before, anyways. And when they did come across a queer couple, he made extra sure that Dean knew he was supportive of it.

Still, his brother hasn’t opened up about it to him, but Sam knew it would take him a while to expose a part of himself that he’s kept hidden for so long. Whenever the day comes that he chooses to come out, Sam will be there to support him.

And… even without knowing all of that, Sam wouldn’t be sure that Dean wasn’t interested in Lucifer. Take away the knowledge that he’s Satan, and that he’s tried to kill them before… and Lucifer is just the type of person Dean would take a liking to. Smart, witty, practically the same taste in food and music… Well-built, now, too.

And, as much as Sam was loathe to admit it, Lucifer was honest, too. He sticks by his word, and Sam knows Dean appreciates that—mostly because he’s seen how upset his older brother gets over the opposite being true of himself. Sam’s kept secrets, lied to Dean’s face, and while he had his reasons, he knows it gets on his brother’s nerves. Dean likes people he can trust, who are predictable, and reliable, and as much as it pains Sam to admit it, Lucifer fits the bill on that one. At least, he’s a lot more reliable than Sam is.

Eventually, Sam comes out of his thoughts, maybe more troubled than when he first considered them. “… I think you might be right about that, Cass. But what do we do about it?”

The angel seemed surprised by the question, drawing his brows together in confusion. “What should we do…? Why would we do anything about it, Sam? Romance should not be interfered with.”

Before Sam can form a response to that, Castiel’s phone starts ringing loudly, and he turns the screen back up so he can see who’s calling. “… It’s Lucifer. He… doesn’t call unless it’s important.”

The hunter nods, gesturing for Castiel to go ahead and answer it, and then turning to look out the window at the corn field they’d pulled over next to.

He could even almost hear Lucifer on the other end in the otherwise silent car. _“Hey Cass, it’s Lou. Can you put me on speaker? I need to talk to you and Sam.”_

Castiel was immediately on high alert as he heard his brother introduce himself as ‘Lou’. He hadn’t thought it would come in handy so soon, but that was the codeword the Winchesters had decided on in case Lucifer ever needed to indicate that he was being held at gunpoint. It was one of the first things they discussed after getting him a phone.

The angel shot Sam a worried look before doing as Lucifer asked, and putting him on speaker. “You’re on speaker now, Lou.”

As he repeated the name, Sam stiffened in his seat as well, looking between the phone and Castiel, equally alarmed. “… Hey Lou, what’s up?”

_"Sam, hey. Just wanted to know how the hunt went for you two. And Cass said you’ll be back in a couple hours?”_

Sam exchanged a look with Castiel before answering. “The hunt went fine, no complications, ran like clockwork. Good job with that lore, by the way.”

The angel picked up with the second part of Lucifer’s query. “Yes, two hours and fourteen minutes is our ETA, do you need us to get home sooner?”

 _“No, that’s alright, thanks, Cass. Just needed to hear your voices.”_ There’s a pause on the other end, and then a clicking noise, followed by a clear sigh of relief. _“… Oh, uh, by the way, Mary Winchester popped by.”_

 _“Hi Sam, Castiel.”_ There’s a second voice on the other end now, and Sam and Castiel realise the click must’ve been her flipping her gun’s safety back on.

Sam visibly relaxes, guessing at what must’ve happened: Lucifer answering the door for whatever reason (he’ll have to ask him about that), his mom not recognising him and pulling a gun, and then getting Lucifer to prove he’s supposed to be there by calling them. “Hey mom! This is a surprise… Are you staying for lunch? We’ll be back before then.”

_“Of course I’ll stay for lunch; I wouldn’t want to miss my boys. I was passing by this way, and I decided to drop by and see if anyone was home. Sorry for the short notice.”_

Before Sam could respond, Castiel cut back into the conversation. “Lou, is Dean not there with you?”

_“Ah… no, he’s out getting groceries for lunch. We didn’t have enough bread or cheese, and I needed a few other things for dinner, too. Talk about bad timing though, right?”_

Sam almost felt sorry for Dean, pretty sure just from the look Castiel’s making that his brother is going to get an earful when they get back. Sam stopped really caring about Lucifer being left alone about a week ago. As long as Dean’s not leaving him for hours at a time, there’s not much Lucifer can get up to on his own there. The spell ingredients are locked up, as are just about all of the dangerous weapons. And in any case, it’s become obvious that Lucifer has no desire to sabotage the people protecting him, or the place where he’s living.

“… No kidding.” The hunter shakes his head, “We’ll give Dean a call so he knows you’re there, Mom. And… thanks for stopping by. I can’t wait to see you again.”

There was a soft laugh from Lucifer and Mary’s side before she responded; _“I know I haven’t stopped by much, I miss you boys too. And I’ve got something I could use your help with.”_

“What is it?” Castiel leans forward, interested.

 _“Not over the phone, Castiel. We’ll see you when you get back, boys.”_ Mary began to say her farewells, and Sam sighed a little sadly, not quite wanting to let her go yet.

But, they’ll see her in a couple of hours, so there’s no reason to keep her on the line, really. “Alright. See you soon, Mom.”

“Goodbye for now, Mary.” Castiel adds, before hanging up the phone. There’s a moment of quiet between them before Castiel decides to move back into action. “… I’ll call Dean. We should continue heading back. Unless you would like to discuss our brothers more…?”

Sam shakes himself a little bit, “… I can drive and talk. Go ahead and call Dean, he’ll need some warning before he comes home to mom…”

The angel nods, and starts dialing the older Winchester’s number.

 

* * *

 

“Did he say American or cheddar…?” Dean stared at the cheese options in front of him, and then looked back at the notes he’d taken on his phone. He’d just written ‘32oz chz’ there, and he knew it was supposed to be orange, but he couldn’t remember which it was supposed to be. “… fuck it.” The hunter grabbed both kinds, sure that Lucifer could find a way to use the other type soon enough.

Onto the next thing. Olive oil. Easy enough, right?

Wrong.

“What the _hell_ is the difference between regular, Virgin, and _extra Virgin_?” He’s tempted to just call Lucifer and have him walk Dean through the ingredients he needs, but that would be admitting defeat. He’s beaten hundreds, no, _thousands_ of monsters, of all kinds. He doesn’t need help with _groceries_.

Then again… he’s not used to picking up specific things to cook with, really. Normally, he’ll just grab pre-made stuff, or things with the instructions on the side of the packaging. And if they ever do cook, Sam was the semi-expert on that.

If he could just bring Lucifer to the store with him, this would all be so much easier.

Unfortunately, until they figure out where Rowena (and his grace) went, Lucifer leaving the bunker isn’t really an option. Or at least, going shopping isn’t an option. Dean spent a couple days with him tricking out the Impala with warding so he’d be safe inside if he wanted to get some fresh air… but so far, he hasn’t taken advantage of it.

He says he doesn’t want to risk it, but Dean knows it’s more than that, because Lucifer would never openly doubt his own warding ability if there wasn’t another reason for it. He’s too… well, a couple months ago, Dean would have said ‘prideful’, or ‘full of himself’, but now, he thinks of it more as confidence. Lucifer puts a lot of trust in the things he makes with his own two hands. If Dean had to guess what the problem was, he’d say it might be the car itself. Lucifer might have bad memories attached to the Impala, what with it being pretty much the reason Sam bested him and tossed him back into the cage. Or it might just be a matter of not wanting to spend a whole lot of time in a car again, after spending the better part of two months living out of one.

Whatever the reason, Dean was abundantly sure that it had nothing to do with not trusting the warding to protect him.

But, he’s getting distracted again. Did Lucifer say virgin, or extra virgin…?

(… Heh, there’s gotta be a joke in there somewhere.)

“Need any help, sir?”

Dean looked up from the two bottles he was holding to see a short-statured woman in a red ‘Randall’s’ vest, naming her ‘Delilah’. He smiled immediately at her, then glanced a little helplessly at the two different olive oils that looked damn-near _exactly_ the same in his hands. “I bet you probably get a lot of ‘hey there Delilah’s’, don’t you?”

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly at him, probably just glad that he didn’t go ahead and just use that line on her. “You’ve got _no idea._ Every guy thinks he’s the first one to think it up.”

“Yikes,” He cringes a little for her sake, “Glad I didn’t try and pull that one, then.” He’s flirting with her practically on reflex… but his heart isn’t really in it, this time. Three guesses why. (…Man, he’s got it bad.) “But actually, yeah, I could use some help. I think I’ll just get both of these, my—” Uh, his… what? Ally? Friend? “… roommate, can probably find a use for whichever one isn’t what he needs today.” He drops both of the plastic bottles into his basket—olive oil lasts practically forever anyways. “Think you could help me decipher the rest of this list though? I need breadcrumbs, and elbow pasta? You know where I might find that?”

The woman laughed quietly at his cluelessness, nodding. “Aisle four, sir. Both should be with the dry pastas. Need me to show you the way?”

Dean shook his head in return, mirroring her smile. “Nah, I’m sure I can get there. But do you think you can tell me which direction I should go for sausage and ground beef after that?”

Again, she nodded, pointing towards the back of the store. “Meats are in the refrigerated section. If you’re having trouble finding what you need, there should be someone who can help you back there. Is that all, sir?”

“For now, yeah. Thanks, Delilah.” He shot her a last, quick grin and a wave before turning to go. Normally, he’d stay a little longer and try to get her number… but lately, he just hasn’t been feeling it.

She just waves back to him as he leaves, and goes back to doing her job. It’s probably best, anyways. She doesn’t need a one-night stand with him, and that’s all he’s really got to offer any woman. Anyone who doesn’t already know about the life, that is.

He dragged Lisa into it… and probably ruined her life by doing it, too. He’s just lucky Cass could ‘superman’ her memories of Dean and hunting out of her life. There are very few things he regrets more than pulling Lisa and Ben into his crazy, screwed-up, _insane_ life. And yet… given the chance to go back and do it differently, he knows he wouldn’t miss that year of his life for the world. Just having someone who knew who he was, what he’d done, and accepted him for it? Someone who he could count on to smile when he came back home, and who trusted him to protect them? A _kid_ who looked up to him like he was a father?

Call him selfish, but Dean would do it all over again, just to have that year of memories to keep him going. Because _that_ , that is what he’s fighting for. In the hope that some day, some where, he can be done fighting, and he can have a house, and a family, and the apple-pie life he’s always just dreamed of.

But for now, it’s monsters and angels and demons, and he can be happy to fight so that regular people don’t have to. For all the Lisas and Bens in the world who need him to look out for them. And for now, he can just hold on to the memory of what he might be able to have again one day.

Though, ‘one day’ doesn’t seem so far off anymore. With Lucifer, they might be able to finally win this impossible war they’ve been fighting.

And… with Lucifer, he’s got someone to smile when he comes home, to watch movies with, to trade jokes with, to cook all the things he couldn’t hope to make, to just… be there when nobody else is.

And maybe that’s a little unfair to Sam and Castiel, but it’s _different_ when he talks to them.

Sam hides things from him, Dean knows he does. So, there’s always a rift between them; the silent question of ‘what aren’t you telling me this time?’ If Dean had to gander a guess right now, he’d say Sam’s working with the British Men of Letters way more than he says he is. And well, that wouldn’t be so bad, really, if Sam actually trusted him enough to just tell him. If his brother would just sit down with him and tell him why he’s choosing to work with them anyways, after what they did.

Castiel has always been a little distant; a little behind the curve when it comes to discussing things. Don’t get him wrong, Dean loves the guy; he’s practically family by now… but Castiel keeps… just, treating Dean like his opinion doesn’t matter, like he doesn’t get a say when Castiel decides to just _do_ something. Part of being in a family is knowing that your decisions don’t just affect you, and Castiel doesn’t seem to _get_ that. It started way before he jumped the gun and swallowed those souls from purgatory… and it’s continued all the way until most recently, when he just said yes to Lucifer, even though the plan was to just stall for Sam and Rowena.

Granted, that one didn’t turn out _all_ bad, especially since Lucifer is now firmly on their side… but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still grate on Dean’s nerves. If he’d talked to them about it, Dean might’ve even agreed that it wasn’t a terrible idea. Maybe they might’ve been able to rope Lucifer into some kind of Deal, make sure he doesn’t turn on them the second he’s out of the cage… But as it was, Dean spent a good several weeks letting Lucifer have the run of the bunker and treating him like his best friend because he didn’t know what Castiel had decided to do.

It was just… a betrayal; and the blame for that didn’t fall on Lucifer’s head. Of course, he’s ticked at him too, for pretending to be Castiel, but he did that so that he could get information on how best to fight Amara without having to fight them every step of the way. And that doesn’t make it better, but Dean does get why he did it, at least. And at least, he did eventually come clean and has even admitted that it was in bad taste for him to do, now that they’re on the same side.

But the _point_ is that _they_ weren’t friends at that point. Lucifer wasn’t expected to play fair with them. He wasn’t expected to consult them about what he plans to do. Castiel _is_ their friend, and yet, _he’s_ the one that _really_ lied to them.

Shit, how does he keep getting off track?

Dean looks up, seeing the large number three hanging over him, and backtracking one aisle with a little bit of a sigh. He really wishes he had someone to shop with, if only to keep him from thinking about everything too much.

He focuses on the job he was given, finding the pasta and breadcrumbs without any trouble. Those are pretty straightforward; Dean just grabs whichever one he thinks looks most like the stuff on tv did.

From there, I just takes another minute to get to the back of the store, where the deli and all the fresh-cut and chilled meats are. For the sausage, he did actually remember to specify three-cheese in his notes, so that was no problem. The ground beef was a bit of a more difficult choice, but it was the last thing on his list, so he figured he could afford to look around at the different brands and weights and take his time with the decision.

He was weighing one in his hand when his phone went off, and he set down his basket so he could pick it up. Castiel, huh. “Cass? What’s up?”

As usual, the angel answers him over the phone with no preamble. _“Lucifer just called Sam and I. Your mother dropped by the bunker.”_

Dean dropped the package of ground beef he had in his hand out of surprise, and almost lost his grip on his phone, too. He got a funny look from one of the store attendants, and quickly picked the ground beef back up, and put it where he’d got it from. When he got his voice back, he whispered furiously into the phone, “Is he okay? Dude, you can’t just say something like that and not give an explanation!”

 _“… Apologies… Yes, Lucifer is fine. Mary did pull her gun on him, but it’s been resolved. She is under the belief that his name is Lou, for now. She’s also planning to stay for lunch, but she didn’t say anything about dinner. We just thought it best to give you a ‘heads up’ before you get back home from shopping.”_ Dean could hear the judgement in his tone behind that last sentence, and nearly gave the phone the middle finger just on principle.

“Yeah, thanks for that buddy, but next time could you maybe… I don’t know, not scare the crap out of me?” He released a short huff, and grabbed the largest package of beef he’d been looking at. It had the best value per ounce, but he thought it might have ended up being more than they needed. However, if he can get Mom to stay for dinner, it should be fine. “And don’t you dare give me shit about leaving him to go shopping. You _know_ I had no idea she was going to show up. And he could have come with me; he chose not to.”

_“It’s our job to make sure he stays safe. That’s the deal we made, Dean. So if you must leave the bunker, then you take him with you, whether he wants to go or not.”_

“Don’t patronise me, Cass.” The hunter scoffs back into the phone, making his way back to the front of the store as quickly as he can without actually running. “And you know what he’s like. There’s no _making_ him go anywhere he doesn’t want to. No way am I shoving him into the car for a twenty-minute milk run.”

_“Dean,”_

“Don’t ‘ _Dean’_ me.” He cuts his friend off, and then sighs a little apologetically. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m heading back right now, I’ll clear all this up with Mom, everything will be fine when you two get back for lunch. Just, relax. I got this.”

Dean can tell the angel isn’t done talking to him, but Castiel seems to be able to pick up on Dean’s mostly-apologetic tone, so he leaves the chastising for later, hopefully when Dean isn’t in a rush to finish up grocery shopping and get back to the bunker. “Alright, Dean. You relax too; the last thing Lucifer needs is for you to get in a crash on the way back… Sam and I will reach the bunker in two hours, we’ll see you then.”

“You got it, buddy. I’ll see you when you get back, Cass.” Dean nods even though he knows Castiel can’t see him, and then hangs up the phone before the angel can change his mind about telling him off for leaving Lucifer alone. (Really, Cass has gotten very protective of his older brother lately… _over_ protective, to be honest. Not that Dean can blame the guy, because he’s getting to be the same way. He can’t help but _want_ to make sure Lucifer is alright. The guy never asks for anything, he’s always the first to offer a hand to help with anything around the bunker, he’s saved Sam and Castiel’s asses at least a dozen times already by finding the right lore, or the spell they needed… He really pulls his own weight, and Dean at least, constantly feels like he’s not fulfilling his side of the bargain adequately, not that Lucifer ever gives any indication of being unhappy with his lot. But again, he’s getting distracted.)

He’s reached the check-out lines already anyways, and this early in the day, they’re practically empty, so he can just about walk up to the cashier. He sets his basket on the conveyor belt, pulling out his wallet so he can pay as soon as it’s all rung up.

Again, there’s a reasonably attractive woman in front of him; this one is named Tanya, and much taller than the last. But at the moment, all that is barely noticed, really just a passing thought amidst his more urgent focus on getting out of the store asap.

Thankfully, she seems to sense his urgency, and he doesn’t have much in the basket anyways, so she doesn’t take long to ring it up, sets him up to swipe his card, and the whole thing is completed in just a couple minutes, with nothing said between them but the standard greetings and goodbyes.

He’s glad that he parked close to the front of the store, because Dean barely has the patience to load the groceries into the back seat before he’s starting the Impala and pealing out of the lot like he’s got hellhounds on his ass, despite Castiel’s warning to relax and be careful.

Dean doesn’t speed for a lot of things, but if there’s one thing he’s not going to wait for, it’s to find out that he’s lost another ally… no, _friend_ because he didn’t act fast enough. He knows that if Mary figures out who Lucifer is, she won’t hesitate to shoot him, and Dean just can’t live with the knowledge that he let yet another friend _die_ because he wasn’t where he should have been. Because he didn’t keep them safe like they were counting on him to. He couldn’t save Bobby, or Frank, or Kevin, or Charlie… but maybe he can still save Lucifer.

God, he hopes so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story time: I don't know if anybody noticed, but I changed the tags on this story a couple times, flip-flopping between writing this story as Saileen (Sam/Eileen) or Sastiel (Sam/Castiel), because I had ideas for both, love both ships, and hadn't written either before. I was considering holding another poll to decide, but it was a little too late to be deciding things like that, so I just flipped a coin. And; Sastiel it is.
> 
> I'm so goddamn indecisive, I have to have coins tell me what to do now.
> 
> Is this how most people write??? Or am I just weird?
> 
> Anyways, on an unrelated note, this chapter officially makes this fic the longest single work of fiction I've ever written. And like, we're only maybe 3/5ths of the way done. Yay! Thanks for all your comments and kudos!! They really do keep up my motivation to finish this thing, y'all. ♡


	14. Ramble On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I grow so tired,  
> but I know I've got one thing I got to do...  
>  _Ramble On!_  
>  And now's the time,  
> the time is now, to sing my song.  
> \- Led Zeppelin
> 
> ... I ramble a lot.  
> Have some more Mary and Lucifer!  
> A _LOT_ more Mary and Lucifer!
> 
> (fun fact: this song was just the one I happened to be listening to when I went to post this chapter. I thought it actually fit pretty well, just by coincidence.)

_“Alright. See you soon, Mom.”_

_“Goodbye for now, Mary.”_

There was a click as Castiel hung up the phone. Lucifer stayed where he was for the moment. Mary hadn’t put the gun away yet, and they were both still far from trusting of one another.

If Lucifer wanted to be honest with himself, he was doing a great job of faking confidence, but he really was scared there for a minute. It turns out he doesn’t need a cage or restraints to make him feel trapped. If he hadn’t been able to hear the voices of his now-friends, Sam and Castiel, he might’ve not been as put-together as he’d managed thus far.

Note to self; avoid being on the wrong end of a gun.

He’d been just about frozen in place, but thankfully his mouth had still worked, and he’d been able to talk his way out of danger. “So… are we good?”

Mary took a second to look him over again, and then nodded, but didn’t put her handgun away yet. “Good enough.” Her finger was no longer on the trigger, however, the safety was on, and the firearm was hanging down by her side, so she was clearly no longer threatening him. It’s a precautionary measure, and that, Lucifer can understand.

There was a bit of an awkward pause as they eyed each other distrustfully, each waiting for the other to say something first.

After a moment or two, Mary took the initiative to start a conversation. “So, Dean’s grocery shopping? I didn’t know he could cook.”

“He grills,” Lucifer replies quickly, a little defensive of his… of Dean. “He makes the best burgers I’ve ever had. That’s what we’re having tonight.” Granted, most of his experience with burgers comes from McDonald's and frozen microwave-burgers at Gas’n’Sip, so Lucifer might be a little biased as to their quality. Sam and Castiel like them a lot, however, so surely he’s not wrong about them being good.

“Well, I’m definitely looking forward to that. But you said he was picking things up for Lunch? Who’s making that?”

Before answering her, Lucifer straightens up a bit self-importantly. “… I am. I usually cook, it keeps me busy.”

That seems to surprise her, and she looks ‘Lou’ over in a new light. “An angel _and_ a cook? Not a combination I would’ve guessed.”

Lucifer started heading down the stairs, firstly not wanting to stand at the top of this staircase forever, and secondly not wanting her to see how much what he’s about to say upsets him. He’s learned recently that as a human, he doesn’t have a fraction of the control over his expressions that he did before (which wasn’t much to begin with, honestly), and he doesn’t trust her enough to let her know what he’s thinking, or what subjects are sensitive to him. “Well, when you lose the wings and halo, it turns out you gotta eat and sleep like the rest of the world.” He hears her following behind him, and when she doesn’t immediately respond, he continues. “I’m human, for now. That’s why I’m staying here; with your boys.”

As he glanced back at her, he saw her nodding, eyes on him thoughtfully. She clearly had many questions for him, so Lucifer prepared himself for them with a mental sigh.

She didn’t actually ask anything until they got down the stairs, and Lucifer sat back down on the couch like he had been before she arrived. Mary remained standing, leaning a bit against the armchair, and keeping the piece of furniture between them; it also served as a means of keeping the gun she still held out of the other blonde’s view.

But, as expected, when she did decide what she wanted to say, it was a question. “So, I don’t know a lot about angels. What happened to the guy you’re wearing when you lost your grace?”

Okay, well. Not the question he was expecting. “Er, he was gone before that happened. The man I possessed was a nudge away from taking his own life… his soul ascended shortly after I possessed him.” This was true of both Vince Vincente and Nick Monroe. He’s drawn to miserable souls, it seems. In both those cases, saying yes was, in a way, suicide to them. They had no intention of hanging on or coming back to their lives once he was done with them.

Mary nodded to show she understood, and then gave a quiet response. “Sad… but at least you gave him a purpose.” She runs her thumb along the edge of her handgun, looking down at it as she continued to her next question. “So, what’s Lou short for? Don’t all you angels have fancy… uh, _angelic_ names?”

Lucifer was tempted to roll his eyes at the question, but held himself back. He picked at the stitching on the couch’s arm while he thought of a satisfying answer for her. “… I prefer not to give away my name to people I don’t know or trust. Make your judgements of me _before_ you hear my name. For now, Lou will suffice.”

That answer obviously didn’t please her. The blonde woman frowned at him briefly, and for a second, looked like she was going to raise her gun again, but then decided against it. Sam and Castiel had already told her he was safe, and he was human, for now, anyways. Come to think of it, perhaps she shouldn’t take his word that he’s human… only, she doesn’t know how to test that he isn’t an angel, so she could only really just ensure that he’s not a monster, or a demon.

In any case, whoever he really is… she can wait to find out when her boys get here.

But, Lou’s answer did give her one clue. Whatever his name is, it’s recognisable. She assumes it likely has nothing to do with the nickname he gave her, because that would be far too obvious. The only angelic name that does come to mind that would make sense for that nickname is ‘Lucifer’, and that’s just crazy. Her sons wouldn’t be hiding Lucifer in their home, surely. And, to her and the British Men of Letters’ best knowledge… he’s dead, or missing, following a fight with the ‘Darkness’. They told her that they’d picked up on some angelic events, where it looked like he had burned through several vessels, but then it all just stopped, and there’s been no sign of him since. So either, he found a vessel that could hold him and is hiding, or recovering, or something… or he didn’t find a suitable one, and died from his wounds. As it’s been over three months since then… the latter is looking more and more likely.

In either case, they’re keeping an ear to the ground, and they asked her to report anything strange she sees, but it doesn’t look like he’s a problem anymore. (Which is _really_ something, if it’s true. In her lifetime, _Satan_ has been defeated? That knowledge gives her real hope for the world’s future.)

Of course, that doesn’t _completely_ rule out the possibility that the man she’s sharing a couch with is Lucifer… but she’s not really getting an ‘evil monster’ vibe from him, and Mary is choosing to trust her instincts; they haven’t failed her so far. Just to be safe, she’ll get a picture of him at some point and have Mick look him up. He’ll probably just find some story about a missing man, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. “… Alright then, Lou, so how did you meet my boys?”

Well, he’s been _destined_ to meet them since the dawn of humanity, considering Sam is his one true vessel, and Dean is his brother’s… but he’s not about to tell her _that_. “We met during the apocalypse-that-wasn’t. Most of us angels met them during that event. I spoke to Sam a few times; I fought against Heaven, like them.”

“Strange, they haven’t mentioned you before.”

Lucifer feels like he’s being interrogated, and in a way, he kind of is. “I’m not surprised. We weren’t on very good terms back then, but I helped them out recently; against the Darkness. Most of us angels did, but not all. Have you heard about that?” At Mary’s nod, he continues, “Anyways, I lent them a hand, so when I found myself in need… they returned the favour.”

A favour he still isn’t quite sure he deserves… Sure, he’s not lying, he _did_ help them with Amara… but only after attempting to kill them both, twice. And pretending to be their best friend. And keeping their frenemy chained up like a dog… Let it not be said that the Winchesters are unforgiving people.

Sure, his first week and a half or so here was kinda rough (on everyone involved), but he’s not dead. It could have been worse. It could have been _much_ worse. As it is, he’s safe, happy, and for the first time since he fell from grace, he’s not alone. Recently, he’s even begun to think that coming to the Winchesters was the best decision he’s ever made.

He offers Mary a smile, mostly prompted by his own train of thought. “Your boys are good people, Mary. You should be proud.”

“I am,” she returns the smile briefly, and then looks back to her gun, debating tucking it away; it’s looking less and less like it’ll be needed.

The gun is all but forgotten to Lucifer, as he hears her response. And, it’s really not his place, but Lucifer’s had to watch Dean; he’s seen how the smile melts off his face whenever his mother is brought up, and… as someone who knows very personally how it feels to be abandoned by someone he loves, that admission _just isn’t good enough_. “So why don’t you tell them? Why are you only coming back _now?_ ”

The huntress blinks at him, looking surprised to have the interrogation turned around on her, and caught off guard by the sudden, muted hostility in the blonde’s voice. “… Come again? I… don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

That… was the wrong thing to say to Lucifer. His lips tighten into a line, and his hand goes up into a fist briefly before he forces himself to release it, and he lets his hand drop back down to his lap. “As someone who has to live with two full grown men who are _constantly_ dancing around the fact that their mother just _left_ them and shows no signs of wanting to come back… I’m making it my business. However, you’re right. It’s not my job to tell you how you should treat your sons, or to explain their issues to you. I’ll just say this;” the archangel’s eyes bore into her, and Mary can clearly see now that the creature she’s sitting on this couch with is _much, much_ older than she can imagine. “You may think; ‘they’ve lasted this long without you’, and ‘you won’t fit here with them’, ‘they don’t need you anymore’… but you’re wrong; Sam and Dean need you more than you know. Not as a hunter, or a protector… they need their _mother_. They’ve gone long enough without one, don’t you think?”

Mary doesn’t really know what to say to that, because… considering that they just met, he saw through her so easily. He somehow knew exactly what her biggest fears are, why she left her boys… Can he read minds, or is she just that transparent?

Maybe it’s neither. His gaze is intense, and with such pale, icy coloured irises, you’d think they’d look cold, or calculating… but to Mary, they look old, knowing, soulful. They’re the eyes of someone who’s been hurt one too many times, and who won’t tolerate injustice any longer; to himself or to others. In that moment, he bears a striking resemblance to her father, and, for Mary, that creates an instant and significant boost in respect for the man.

She suddenly, very badly, does not want to be on the wrong side of those eyes. “… Yeah. I, Um…”

The angel backtracks, recognising that he’s pushed her a bit too much. He stands, offering half a smile and raising his hands non-threateningly. “Sorry, I’ve been told I can be a bit off-putting.”

“No, it’s okay… The honesty is refreshing,” Mary admits, still trying to come up with an adequate response. Her sons, the Brits, all of them skirt around certain subjects, but not Lou. He saw a problem, and he went right to the core of it. She’s not used to that kind of bluntness, even from before her death.

Lucifer nods, letting a second or two of silence pass before he continues, his tone less harsh this time. “Just, if you want my advice, give them a shot. Have a real talk with them. But, I’m not going to force you to do anything.” He’s quiet for a second, letting her think, and watching as she nods her head to his suggestion. When he speaks, it’s in a lighter tone, with the intent to relieve some of the heaviness between them. “Yeesh, what kind of host am I? Can I get you something to drink?”

The blonde woman hesitates, and then nods, smiling as she pointedly tucks her gun into the back of her pants and steps away from the armchair. “I’ll consider what you said, Lou.” And she means that, she really does. “As for the drink, yes, _please_. What’ve you got?”

Lucifer didn’t wanna push the subject anymore, so he took the ‘I’ll consider it’ and let it be. “The usual; beer and basics.”

“I’ll take a beer,” came her immediate reply.

“Mm, said like a true Winchester,” The devil responded with ill-concealed amusement. He doesn’t find himself surprised at all. It seems it’s not just the boys that thoroughly enjoy their cheap alcohol. He stands as well, starting to head for the kitchen. “Just out of curiosity, what is it that you wanted help with?”

The 60-year-old blonde woman that only looked half that age followed the graceless angel towards the kitchen, meeting his curious glance with a shake of her head. “I’d like that to stay between my boys and me, if you don’t mind. It’ll be up to them if they want to share.”

“Understandable,” he responds, sounding just a bit disappointed. “Is it something very dangerous?”

Mary didn’t really want to disclose much to him, but this shouldn’t be an issue. “Potentially, though given what my boys have accomplished, I don’t think it will be.”

“They always do seem to come out on top,” Lucifer comments, a touch of bitterness to his mostly-fond tone. They reached the kitchen then, and Mary notes the changes since she was last here. It’s definitely been used more often; the sink is full of dishes from the previous night and this morning. The pantry is ajar, and there’s significantly more food in it than before, which is to say, there’s actually some non-snack-food in it. Before, this seemed like a glorified coffee-room, but now it looked like it was finally being used as it should be.

Busy as she was taking in the changes, Lucifer’s bitterness went right over her head. The kitchen’s appearance didn’t have even half the effect on Lucifer as it did on her, and he just walked right over to the fridge to pull her out a beer. He noticed as he turned to hand it to her, that she was still over by the entrance. He did remember how the kitchen looked before he got here, so he had somewhat of an inkling about why she’d paused.

“Mary? Are you alright?” Not that he really cares… but he imagines Dean wouldn’t appreciate coming home to a zoned-out mother.

That shook her from whatever trance she’d been in, and she shrugged, offering him a helpless smile. “Yeah, of course. It’s just… change happens so quickly. I don’t know how anyone keeps up.”

That, he could definitely relate to. “Change is the only constant, Mary. You either adapt, or you get pulled under.” The blonde man returned her shrug, heading back towards her with the beer she asked for. “Whether or not you keep up, the Universe will keep moving.”

The huntress took the bottle from him, giving him an odd look. “How very… fatalistic of you.”

“I prefer the term ‘realistic’, if you don’t mind.” He offered her half a smile, “I’m very old. I’ve watched Creation progress since before Humankind took its first steps. It’s just a simple fact that whatever happens; the Universe goes on.”

Up to this point, Mary had been mostly fooled into thinking the man here with her was as human as she was (even during that instance earlier, he’d seemed more human than alien. Just… very intense) … but the quiet, absolute way he spoke about… Everything with a capital E, made the fact that he was truly an ancient, powerful being all too obvious. She didn’t doubt his claim that he was older than the Earth itself, and that realisation made her consider just how much of a _change_ it probably was for him to suddenly be mortal, now.

Her smile turned from helpless to a bit more sympathetic, and she tried to shake the moment off with a nervous laugh. “Of course, you’re right… Here I am, getting overwhelmed by a _kitchen_ , when you’ve lost… a lot, it sounds like.” She screws the top off the beer, not waiting any longer to knock back some of the not-nearly-strong-enough alcohol. “Why don’t you grab a beer too, and tell me the rest of your story. I wanna know all there is to know about you, Lou, the mysterious fugitive-angel-cook.”

Lucifer waved a hand in front of himself, ready to politely decline the request, but hesitated before actually speaking. Here’s his chance to tell her his side, no judgement or pre-disposition towards him. Here’s his chance to tell her his story starting with a clean slate, just about. Just a nameless, random angel who’s on somewhat good terms with her family. For a little bit, he doesn’t have to be Satan, the devil, or any of the other labels he’s been given by humanity. “Don’t belittle your own losses, Mary. They may seem small in perspective, but they aren’t.” He pauses, not entirely sure what he should risk telling her about himself. “… I don’t drink, but thanks for the offer. Are you sure you want to hear my story? I doubt it’s as exciting as you imagine it will be.”

“Yeah,” she smiled at him, and there was an amount of warmth there that surprised him. “Exciting is the last thing I need, Lou. You don’t have to tell me about anything big… why don’t you tell me what it’s like to be human, now? What’s the hardest thing to get used to? _How_ have you gotten used to this?”

Well, when she puts it like that… “Boring it is, then. What do _you_ think the hardest part would be?” He feels himself returning her smile, and makes his way to her other side, leaning against the opposite edge of the doorframe from her.

She chews her lip for a second, and then shakes her head as she answers. “Oh, I don’t know. Remembering to eat enough, probably?”

Mary snaps her fingers as Lucifer shakes his head, with his smile still in place. “You’d think, but my body is pretty good at reminding me to do that. I don’t know about other angels this has happened to, but I struggle with sleeping. Or at least, sleeping for long periods of time. Dreaming, too, is very strange for me.”

“Huh, do you think you know why it’s hard for you?” Of all the answers she had expected, sleeping wasn’t anywhere on the list.

The former angel shakes his head again, and then stops, and sighs. “At first it was just an issue of not recognising when I was tired. I went almost a day and a half I think without proper sleep, just after losing my grace. I just got frustrated with myself for not being able to think properly. But recently… Well, before, I nearly always fell asleep from exhaustion, so I didn’t dream much. Now, I don’t really have to do that, and I dream. And sometimes… most of the time… I wake up in the middle of the night, scared about some nightmare. Do you ever have nightmares?”

“Yeah…” Mary gave the other blonde a sympathetic look, and briefly wondered what angels have nightmares about. “All the time. That’s pretty common, for us hunters. Have you tried sleeping with a light on? Or having someone keep you company? What about Castiel?”

The angel nods, and chews the inside of his cheek. “The light doesn’t really help. I’m not afraid of darkness.” No, by itself, darkness doesn’t affect him. It’s being trapped, and alone, it’s confining spaces that really scares him. He’s tried keeping the bathroom light on, and it just keeps him awake longer. “Company helps, I think… but I don’t want to ask. Castiel’s gone hunting with Sam most of the time, and it would just be weird to ask Dean. I don’t know him well enough.” That’s not why he doesn’t ask Dean to sleep with him… however, not to be too dramatic or anything, but, Lucifer thinks he’d rather die than tell Mary that he’s got a massive crush on her son. A crush that he’s trying his _hardest_ to ignore.

Of _course,_ he had to go get doey-eyed for the one human he definitely doesn’t have a snowball’s chance with. At least Dean’s mom seems to like him well enough, for now.

She keeps drinking as he speaks, and he tries to ignore the sympathy in her expression. Lucifer neither wants, nor needs, pity. “I can as—”

“—no,” Lucifer doesn’t let her finish that offer, shaking his head urgently. “That’s—that’s okay, I don’t need you to, thank you. Really, I sleep plenty for someone who never leaves the bunker.” He wouldn’t have even brought it up, but the nightmare he had last night was really bad. He woke up at 1:20 am, and couldn’t get back to sleep. He turned the lights on, washed his face, even texted Castiel, but couldn’t get himself to lay down again. It’s no surprise that he lost every sparring match against Dean this morning, after the night he had.

At least he had a book or two in his room to help him pass the time. He’s going through a Law textbook, simply out of curiosity. Legalese is so precise and complex; he has to appreciate the craftsmanship of it. He keeps the book hidden under his bed, because he knows he’ll never hear the end of it if Dean finds out he’s reading Law Practice just for fun.

And, he got through like 12 levels on Angry Birds. The game is significantly more fun and engaging as a human, when he can’t quite calculate the right trajectories just by sight.

The angel lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment, just thinking about it.

As he did, the sleeve of Dean’s button-down rode up past his elbow and revealed part of the tattooed-on binding runes. (So, he gave in and he wears flannel now… it’s comfortable, and Dean has a lot of it. Sue him. At least he doesn’t wear the plaid ones.)

Mary was about to try to offer again, but then she saw Sam’s name scrawled on his right forearm accompanied by lines of characters in a language se didn’t recognise, and her curiosity was piqued. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Lucifer tilted his head at her in question, and then followed her gaze to his binding tattoo. “Oh, uh…” He drops his right arm, and pulls the sleeve up over his elbow so she can see it better. He’s still trying to earn her trust, and she’s already seen part of it, so there’s not much point in trying to hide it now. “This? It’s… Well, it’s complicated. Do you want the long version or the short version?”

The blonde huntress arches a brow at him, tapping the rim of the beer bottle against her lips. “We’ve got time.”

Nodding, the former archangel pulls up his other sleeve to show her his matching one with Dean’s name. “Long version it is, then. I believe I mentioned that your boys and I weren’t on very good terms, before?” At her nod, he continues. “We’ve worked together before… but that doesn’t mean we necessarily trust each other. I caused a lot of trouble for Heaven, so, when they let me stay here and agreed to help me out, they took precautionary measures, too. I expected no less when I came here for help. These bind me to my word, and ensure that we have a permanent alliance. It’s a little more complicated than just that, but you can essentially think of these as a physical manifestation of my bond to them as their Guardian Angel. So, when I get my Grace back—ah, _if_ I get it back, I’ll know if they’re ever in danger, and I will be drawn to protect them. Summoned, if necessary.”

Of course, there’s more, (namely that he’ll _die_ if they both do) but that’s all she needs to know. “I consider it a small price to pay for how much they’ve done for me already. And, since coming here, I’ve come to rather like them, as weird as that is to think. Not too long ago, I couldn’t stand sharing the same _air_ as any of them for too long, but now, I don’t know… they’ve grown on me. I look forward to spending time with them.” With Dean in particular… but Lucifer keeps that to himself, too.

Mary listens to him intently, filing away the information. Assuming he’s telling the truth, that binding really ensures he’s not a threat. He could be lying, of course, but she can’t think of any other reason her boys would sign their names on someone else’s skin (that isn’t equally out-there), and that _is_ their handwriting. “My boys are good people, like you said before. John must’ve done a pretty good job raising them without me… I shouldn’t be, but sometimes, I’m just so _jealous_ of him.” She sensed that he was more summarising the tattoo’s meaning than fully explaining it, but it seemed to be something of a personal issue, so she didn’t press it. He told her enough for her to get the idea. “So, Guardian Angels _do_ exist. Do Cupids exist too? What about Reapers? And are there Seven Archangels, or Four? Or are there even more than seven? That’s always been so unclear in scripture.”

The huntress’ interest makes Lucifer smile again, always one to appreciate curiosity. “A guardian angel is more of a _choice_ than the other kinds, but yes. Cupids, or Cherubim, do exist, and they’re as obnoxious as you’d think. They say the wildest things, too.” He holds back a snort of laughter, thinking of all the various poems and songs they came up with, just about love, and falling in love, and all the other mushy nonsense they were obsessed with. Cupids were the funniest ranks of angels, in his opinion. But then, they _were_ Gabriel’s underlings. They loved to tease other angels about who they were going to fall in love with, but Lucifer never participated in that. The one time he did ask, Gabriel wouldn’t tell him anything anyways; he said true love should be natural, and it’s always better if it’s a surprise. “Reapers also exist; though they don’t associate much with heaven, but to drop off the souls they collect. They’re very much more mortal-associated than the rest of our kind. Their job is to convince souls to let go of life, and go on to eternity in the afterlife. It’s… very hands-on.” He briefly wonders if a reaper will come for him, too, once Sam and Dean are dead. Or perhaps there will be nothing left for them to take to the Empty. Perhaps he’ll just… cease to exit. “As for archangels, there were only four of – them.” Crap, he almost said ‘us’… he needs to be careful with these questions. “Michael, the oldest, then Lucifer, Raphael, and Gabriel. Now, only two remain; Michael and Lucifer.” It’s so strange to talk about himself in the third person.

Mary had been listening raptly, but that last statement really caught her attention. “Lucifer’s still alive? I thought I’d heard he died. Are you sure he’s still out there?”

Crap. Fuck. Why’d he even say that? “Ah, yes… I’m pretty sure he’s still alive. Heaven is still looking for him. But, he hasn’t made any trouble, so far.” And then he pauses, because; “Wait, who told you he’d died? Not Sam or Dean, surely.”

Mary hesitates, coming up with an excuse on her feet. “I wasn’t ‘told’, exactly. I just heard, from another hunter I worked a case with, that there’s a rumour going around that Satan died. Something about him helping fight the Darkness, and coming out of it pretty torn up. And since, well, nothing _apocalyptic_ has happened yet, people think he died from his wounds.” She feels a little bad about lying to him (Mick is about the furthest thing from a hunter that she can imagine), but she can’t tell him—and (by extension) her boys—about her decision to involve herself with the British Chapter of the Men of Letters. It was her decision to make, and she knows how Sam and Dean feel about them—namely; not good. However, she gave them a chance, and their way, however procedural and _against_ her hunting instincts it is, _works._ And not only that, but it works _well_.

She does still want to stay on good terms with her sons, which is why she keeps it to herself… but even more than that, she wants to make a world for them where they don’t have to hunt or be in danger anymore. If that means teaming up with the former enemy… well, Mary’s done worse for more selfish reasons.

She _will_ tell them.

… Later.

Lucifer nods after a second, not quite buying her explanation, but deciding to give her the benefit of the doubt, for the sake of not pressing the matter further. He’d rather not accidentally reveal his own secret, either. He has no idea how she’ll react to his true identity, and he’d very much prefer to have three allies nearby when he does. Allies he can stand ~~(hide)~~ behind. “Well, that rumour is wrong. If --he were dead, believe me, you’d know about it. All the angels on Earth and in Heaven would likely rejoice, or sing, or something.” At least, that’s what he assumes the general reaction will be; not that he’ll be around to find out. “No one has seen him for almost three months. Either he’s gathering strength for something big; he’s still hurt, which is a possibility; or he’s just not interested in fighting a losing battle alone, anymore. Or, some combination of those things. I’m of the opinion it’s the latter two. He got his ass handed to him, and he’s not eager for a repeat experience. I know I wouldn’t be.”

Mary is quiet, drinking her beer and letting him continue as long as he feels like.

“Anyways, haven’t you heard?” Lucifer finds it difficult to stop once he’s started, and his companion is a fairly good listener, so he feels compelled to keep filling the silence between them. “God came back. And then He left. Called Lucifer back to the plate like a damn home-coming scene from a hallmark movie, ‘all is forgiven’ and all that jazz, and then he left. Again. I don’t know about you, but if _I_ were Lucifer, I’d be pretty pissed off. And Rightfully so. But also, what would be the point of causing more trouble? Obviously the Big Guy doesn’t care what he does, so why make himself a target? I think Lucifer—wherever he is—is done with the Satan gig.”

As he finally came to the end of his rant, he noticed the brow Mary had slightly raised, and the way she seemed to be reassessing him. “… You sound like you’re defending him.” Her lips don’t quite form a frown, but it’s a close thing. “Lou, is Lucifer why you fought against Heaven in the Apocalypse?”

Well, technically the answer is no... but...

Fuck. He should have just kept his mouth shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for this chapter's tardiness, and the lack of Dean in it. I had a lot of trouble getting this interaction to go how I wanted it to. Mary is a pivotal character, and I had to make sure she acts the way I need her to. Also, exactly how much information each character has is becoming very important.
> 
> Basically; Writing is Hard.  
> And I've had horrible, horrible writer's block.  
> But! I think I've been cured! I'm a good bit of the way into the next chapter now! Maybe y'all will get a double update this weekend, if I can keep the writing up. (I wanted to get to Dean in this chapter, so I kept writing, trying to lead into his scene [you may have noticed the lack of a scene break in this chapter], and I just ended up cutting it off here because I was quickly approaching 7k words, and I've given myself a 5k max on chapters [but this one is 5.5 k because I had trouble finding a place to cut it off, lucky you]. Enjoy the cliffhanger!)
> 
> And guys, give [LuxInvictus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxInvictus/pseuds/LuxInvictus) a big thank you! They helped me beta this chapter, and they've agreed to beta future chapters! Lux writes as well, for both **Supernatural** and **The Closer**. Go give them a read!


	15. Running Out of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is wasting... (boy you're running out of time)  
> No more waiting...  
> Start life over...  
> You'll be on your way.  
> \- Toto

“Lou, is Lucifer why you fought against Heaven in the Apocalypse?” He never did mention fighting against Hell. That would certainly explain why she doesn’t know who he is, why he’s hiding here, his passion and knowledge on this subject, and most of the other things she finds mysterious about him. Perhaps he hides his name because he’s worried he’s become infamous enough amongst the hunters and Men of Letters.

Maybe that’s why he chose a nickname so similar to ‘Lucifer’.

Lucifer would slap himself if he didn’t think it would immediately give him away. There he goes, getting himself in tricky situations again because he has no fucking clue when to just keep his trap shut. “… No.” C’mon, he’s supposed to be the Father of Sin, Prince of Lies… he can do better than _‘No’._ It’s too bad titles don’t actually give you the ability to do something you abhor.

As he figured would be the case, his half-lie didn’t do much to convince her. “Would you tell me if he _was_?”

“Probably not, but he isn’t, so it’s irrelevant.” Lucifer’s doing his best to keep his tone even and matter-of-fact, and his expression just as neutral; maybe a bit offended. His mouth got him into this mess, maybe it can get him back out. “I’m only saying, a lot of things have been put in perspective for me recently, and when you look at the bare facts, Lucifer got kind of screwed in the deal. Doesn’t mean I support him. Just, maybe the guy has a legitimate reason to be angry. Furthermore, Heaven is wasting _so much_ _time_ and effort looking for him, when they _should_ be focused on their own problems. They’ve always been terrible at prioritising.”

There’s a possibility that she’s wrong, and Lou is just extending his rivalry with Heaven to Sympathy for the Devil… after all, the Enemy of your Enemy is a potential friend, and Mary is particularly guilty of the same thought process, recently. It’s that thought that keeps her from reaching for her gun.

After all, her sons do seem to trust him to some extent. He’s being allowed to stay here, alone, so even if he’s not exactly a ‘good guy’, he must be useful in some way. “Lou,” her tone takes on a timbre it hasn’t since Dean was four years old, “please don’t lie to me. Look me in the eye and tell me; given the chance, would you hurt either of my sons?”

He was expecting another jab at his identity, so the seemingly unrelated question catches him off-guard.

… This should be easy, so why is it so hard to look her down and tell the simple truth? Maybe it’s the ‘Mom’ voice, speaking to him in a tone he associates with his Father. The similarity of it sets his nerves on edge. He takes a breath, determined to sound as confident and truthful about his answer as he has every right to be. “No, never.” He pauses, and then continues, because he can sense she doesn’t believe him, and he’s _telling the truth_. “Before, maybe… Okay, _yes_ , probably. But now? I wouldn’t dream of it. I owe them my life. And, I take my debts very seriously.” His eyes never leave hers throughout the speech, silently pleading for her to see that he’s not lying.

The tense silence that follows is perhaps one of the most nerve-wracking handful of seconds Lucifer’s ever experienced. If she doesn’t take him at his word… his life might end right here and now.

“…” Mary really considers his answer, trying to find a lie. Not many people can keep eye contact like he did and lie to a person’s face… but he was an angel, and possibly one of Lucifer’s, so that’s not a guarantee.

And then, she thinks back on the entirety of their encounter. It hasn’t been long, but first impressions are rarely false.  And one thing she’s noticed about this man… angel… person, is that he’s always very careful about his wording. It’s easy to tell when he’s lying, because it shows plainly on his face that he dislikes it. He may be withholding certain information, or phrasing things ambiguously… but he’s not a liar. “… Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I believe you,” the shorter blonde clarifies, and the look of relief that washes over the man’s face further strengthens her confidence in her decision. Liars don’t look relieved; they look happy when their lie is bought. “I don’t, however, believe that you aren’t a… Satan sympathiser. I wanna know who you are. No bullshit this time.”

At that assertion, the relief disappears again, replaced by more of the concern from before. He’s not very good at controlling his expressions. Whoever he is, he would _really_ make a terrible liar. It’s a good thing he hasn’t tried to lie to her yet. “… Dean will be here soon, and I’d really rather that he tell you.”

“Why do you need Dean here? Why won’t you tell me your name?”

“Mary, please,” The former archangel hates how he sounds; like he’s begging. He’s above this. “I don’t want to lie to you.” And that, she actually believes. “You won’t like the answer. However, I don’t know exactly how much you won’t like it, and I’m not willing to risk my life. Wait for Dean; he’ll explain everything to you.”

The woman that was young only in appearance frowned, unsatisfied with his response. However, she can tell most of his reluctance stems from her possession of a firearm, so she sets her bottle on a shelf and pulls the weapon back out. His reaction is immediate, jumping backwards and putting one of the kitchen’s storage racks between them.

Mary doesn’t fire the gun, however, holding it in a way that she can’t effectively use it. And when he finally looks at her again, peeking from around the metal structure, she releases the ammunition cartridge, letting it drop into her other hand. She then sets the gun on a counter, and holds the bullets out for him to take. “Look, I don’t think you’re a threat, Lou. You seem nice enough, and trustworthy enough… I just don’t like being kept in the dark. So please, tell me your actual name.”

Lucifer was… _sure_ that he was about to be shot. He’d fully expected it. So when he isn’t, he’s caught completely by surprise. He waits a second, staring at the ammo cartridge uncomprehendingly before he comes closer again, and takes it from her, accepting the peace offering. He turns it over in his hands, feeling its weight while he considers his next course of action. “… Why do you need to know so badly? Dean will be here in just a few minutes, you won’t have to wait long.”

He does have a point, but Mary is a stubborn woman (a trait which her sons inherited in double, from both her and her husband), and she prefers to make judgements for herself. She knows if Dean explains who he is, he’ll sugar-coat it, and she won’t get the full picture. She also knows this man is hiding something from her, and she, very badly, wants to know what it is. “I don’t want Dean to tell me, I want _you_ to. I want to trust you, Lou, but I can’t do that if I don’t even know your real name.”

For a moment, Lucifer considered giving her one of his more obscure names. He could tell her he’s Heylel, Shachar, Apollyon, or even Samael, and she would probably accept it and move on. He could probably even get a text out to Dean to warn him beforehand. It wouldn’t even be a lie, and if she googled the name he gave her, the truth behind his misleading answer would be easily revealed.

But, something about the blunt, honest way she says she _wants_ to trust him, gets to him. And… she disarmed herself, to earn his trust in return. Maybe she’ll be like Kevin. Maybe he can just tell her who he is, now that he’s made his impression. He thinks he made a good impression, overall. At least, he _hopes_ he has.

He’s silent for longer than before, internally debating (to tell, or not to tell), and silently hoping for Dean to walk around the corner and rescue him from this.

Eventually, and with much difficulty, he steels himself to tell her the truth. “Fine. Okay. I’ll tell you my name, because I’m choosing to trust you, too, Mary. You can’t tell _anyone_ about me, okay? Promise me.”

The huntress can hear the stress in his voice, and how important it is to him that she keeps this promise… and she finds it hard to deny him. He’s not been unkind or particularly ‘devious’-looking since she met him just under half an hour ago. And if he could have done anything to harm her, he’s had plenty of opportunities to do so.

So, with that in mind, she nods in agreement, and makes a crossing motion over her heart. It’s just a little thing _her_ mother used to do whenever she made a vow she intended to keep. “… Okay. I promise.”

The former archangel steels himself one last time, and a little voice at the back of his head tells him to just _lie_ , he’s _making a mistake_. And maybe he is, but Mary is going to find out at some point, and she’ll _never_ trust him if he lies to her right now. “You know how I said Lucifer isn’t dead?” As realisation and suspicion begins to dawn on the mother’s face, Lucifer rushes to finish his answer. “… you’re looking at him. _I_ was Satan.”

  

* * *

 

  

Castiel sighs as Dean hangs up on him, and ends the call on his end too. “… I have a bad feeling about what we’re going to find when we get back.”

“Relax,” Sam replies soothingly, “if I know Dean, he’ll be there in under ten minutes. There’s no way Lucifer can get himself into trouble before Dean gets back. Anyways, he’s the one who really wants to keep his identity a secret. It’ll be fine.”

The angel hums quietly, not fully convinced. “… I hope you’re right, Sam. But, if I know one thing about Lucifer… it’s that he’s _not_ a good liar. And Mary asks a lot of questions…”

He gets a half-smile in response, as Sam is once again hit with the irony of ‘The Deceiver’ being about as good at lying as Sam is at dealing with clowns. “You’re right about that, Cass… But you’re forgetting the one thing Lucifer that is _really_ good at.”

There’s a little pause as Castiel tries to guess what Sam is referring to, and comes up blank. “… and what’s that?”

“Making people like him.” In fact, he’s so good at it, that most people don’t even really notice how charismatic he is until it’s pointed out to them. He doubts Lucifer even notices all the things he does. Not Sam, though. He’s far too skeptical of the former archangel to not pick up on all the little ways he makes himself seem friendly, open, and relatable. It’s a survival skill, and it’s one that Lucifer has truly mastered. Who needs to lie when he can just convince everyone that his truth is the right one? And those he can’t convince, he can outsmart, or before he lost his grace, overpower. “In fact, I’ll bet you ten bucks that when we get back, he’ll have her laughing at his jokes, telling him stories from when Dean was a kid, or helping him cook lunch.”

“Sam, you know money means nothing to me.”

“So, you shouldn’t care about making a bet with it, right?”

“… fine, I’ll take your bet. If Mary is doing none of those things, I win.”

The hunter’s smile widens into a grin at the other’s begrudging agreement. “Easy money.” Sam never thought in a million years that he’d be betting _on_ Lucifer, but, in this case, Lucifer is a pretty damn safe bet. He has to admit, given all the shit between them… the devil has managed to fit in at the bunker more easily than he thought possible. Sam underestimated him.

But, he does have to give it to Lucifer; He didn’t just underestimate him, he misjudged him, too. The former archangel really isn’t so bad, at least without the ‘infinite cosmic power’ and the grudge match. He’s not quite the same as he was when Sam first met him, but he’s also not _so_ different that Sam thinks he never had the potential to be this without the forced dose of humanity. Sam’s actually a little sorry that this is the way that Lucifer had to let go of his issues; by trading them for more pressing, immediate, life-threatening ones. He’s a little frustrated with himself, too, because he wonders now, if he hadn’t been so obstinate and judgemental of Lucifer from the moment they first met… maybe he could have brought this side of Lucifer out a lot earlier, and saved them both a lot of pain and heartache. Maybe they could even have been friends.

As it is, he thinks the term ‘allies’ better defines their relationship. No matter what Lucifer does… Sam doesn’t think he can ever fully trust the celestial being, and the same is probably true of the reverse. He’s used, played, and beaten Lucifer down just as much as the other has him.

He certainly doesn’t mind learning what he can from one of the few beings that’s been around since nearly the dawn of creation… but that doesn’t mean he’s half as buddy-buddy with him as his brother and Castiel are. Sam’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, even if he’s become a lot quieter about it.

His passenger gets his attention again, breaking the comfortable, contemplative silence that had fallen between them. “Should we continue discussing the possibility of our brothers, er, ‘ _liking’_ one another? Or, would you prefer to leave it be?”

Sam’s smile had fallen from his face while he thought about Lucifer, dividing his focus between that and driving. But, now, a bit of it came back with Castiel’s typical social awkwardness. Leave it to him to _ask_ about continuing a conversation rather than just re-starting it, especially when it’s obvious that _he_ wants to discuss it further. This is the second time he’s asked to already, and it’s pretty clear from his tone that he’s only giving Sam the option to decline out of politeness. “Yeah, what did you wanna say?”

Castiel didn’t need to be told twice, and he launched right into what he wanted to talk about. “You didn’t answer me before; you sounded like you wanted to keep Lucifer and Dean apart.” The angel cocked his head, and Sam didn’t really need the rear-view mirror to know he was doing it. “… why?”

“Uh…” Well, like, a million reasons that probably don’t actually count, and all really just amount to ‘I don’t want my brother dating Satan’. Damnit Cass, Sam mentally curses, wishing he could just say that without sounding like a judgemental, close-minded asshole.

When he doesn’t immediately respond, Castiel interjects. “Is it because they’re both men?”

“What?” Sam tears his eyes from the road in surprise for the second time that day, but this time, keeps the car from swerving. He turns back to the road quickly, torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to bang his head on the steering wheel. “No, Cass. It’s not— I’m not homophobic.”

There’s barely any time between Sam’s response and Castiel’s follow-up to it. “Then what’s the problem?”

For such a simple question, Sam is having a lot of difficulty coming up with a simple answer. “It’s not, um, what Lucifer looks like, or anything, it’s more of um, _what_ and _who_ he is, okay?”

“You mean, an angel? I can see how species might—”

Sam has to cut Castiel off there, because that’s _definitely_ not the issue. “—No! Cass, just, it has _nothing_ to do with Lucifer being an angel, or male, or any of that. It’s just; he’s _Satan_ , okay? And I don’t know if he actually, _really_ likes Dean, or he just wants to use him. I don’t trust him, not yet, okay?” There’s a bit of awkward silence, and he can tell that Castiel is trying to think of some way to convince him that he’s wrong, and really, it isn’t necessary, so Sam continues before the poor angel can burn himself out. “… But if Dean wants to go for it, I’m not gonna stand in his way, either. Dean should be able to have whatever he wants… I just… I hate it, but a part of me really hopes that isn’t Lucifer… and that’s all there is to it. Really.”

Crap, Sam didn’t even notice how hard he was gripping the steering wheel, or how much he’d begun to accelerate until they whipped past a ‘speed limit: 70’ sign at over 90 miles per hour. He steps off the gas, and keeps his eyes firmly ahead of him, not sure that he even could meet Castiel’s eyes right now.

When he finally does get a response, Castiel’s tone isn’t nearly as judgemental as he expected it to be. Which is to say, Castiel didn’t sound judgemental at all. “I think, as his brother, I’m obligated to say ‘you should give him a chance’, and ‘he’s not so bad’, but not so long ago, I don’t doubt that I would’ve been just as against it as you are, Sam.”

The hunter releases a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “So why aren’t you now? You’ve been in his head, you know him as well as I do… How can you be so okay with… _this?_ ”

Before he’s even done, Castiel is shaking his head. “We’ve both been possessed by him, Sam, but that doesn’t mean we know him the same. You were in his head when he thought he’d won, when he thought he had everything. The entire time you shared a brain with him, you two were at war with each other. I… wasn’t. I needed his help, and he needed mine. I saw him hit rock bottom, and I saw that when he lost everything else, he still stuck by what he believed in.” He leaves it at that for now, because he’s not trying to tell Sam he’s _wrong_ , or lecture him at all. If there’s anything he’s learned in his time on earth; it’s that you can’t tell a Winchester what to do, or who to like or dislike.

That description does give Sam pause, but not for long. Rather than prompt a change in subject, as Castiel expected, Sam surprises him, as he tends to do. “We haven’t talked about what it was like… Being possessed by him. He scared me, Cass, he _really_ scared me… and you’re right, he was a different monster back then, than the… man, he is now. What was it like for you?”

Castiel feels like he’s won the lottery, today. A hunt went off without a hitch for once; he’s found out that his (now) closest brother has a crush on his best friend which is great, because Lucifer makes Dean laugh, and Dean makes Lucifer relax; he’s got burgers to look forward to tonight; Mary is visiting, and he likes Mary because she makes Dean happy; and now Sam is asking to discuss the one thing he’s been _dying_ to ask Sam about, but has been too worried about making Sam uncomfortable to do so. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he’s dreaming. But; angels don’t dream. “Are you sure you want to know, Sam?”

The hunter rolls his eyes in turn, pretending like the subject doesn’t still make his skin crawl. Less so now than it used to, of course, but the feeling is still there. Even so, he knows he can’t just ignore it forever, and at least now he has someone in almost the same boat as him to talk to. “Yeah, Cass, I’m sure; how can you trust him after being in his head?” Castiel clearly wants to talk about it, anyways… and Sam _has_ to know if there was something he _missed_ about Lucifer that   
Cass didn’t.

The latter doesn’t need to be told twice, just taking a few seconds to collect his thoughts and come up with a way to describe his experience without trying to force his opinions on Sam. “… Sam, up until Lucifer possessed me, I believed he was nothing more than Evil Incarnate. I saw the hallucinations, like you… and that, paired with what I saw in the apocalypse, was all the experience I had with him. I only said yes to him, because I’d just been face-to-face with something worse, and I knew at least he had a better chance at fighting her than I did.” Sam didn’t try to interrupt, just nodding silently along to let Castiel know he understood.

“And… I don’t regret my decision. The being that possessed me was _nothing_ like what I expected. Sam, I had a long time to look through his mind, and I think those hallucinations we had, were just that; hallucinations. Figments of our imagination. Based purely off fear and rumours, not originating from Lucifer himself. Unless he temporarily got very good at hiding things, I really believe he had no idea either of us went through that.” Castiel’s theory is that it stems from the cage’s power. Lucifer’s ptsd, Sam’s hallucinations, Michael’s as-yet undiagnosed insanity… It can’t be a coincidence that everyone who ends up in the cage doesn’t leave without serious mental scars.

Here, Sam interjects, in cautious disbelief. “Okay, say that’s true, Cass. You did tell him, right?”

“I didn’t have to, we shared a head for over a month; we saw a lot of each other’s memories. _He_ asked _me_ about it.”

“Got it, so, if he _didn’t_ drive me batshit insane for _months,_ then why did he apologise for it? Why didn’t he tell me he’s not guilty for that?”

“He apologised to you?”

“Yeah, he didn’t tell you? Don’t you guys tell each other everything?”

At that, Castiel gives Sam possibly the most passive-aggressively judgemental look he’s ever seen on the angel’s face (and he’s seen _many_ ). “Do you and _Dean_ tell each other everything?”

“… Point taken.” The hunter sighs, realising now that it was a pretty stupid question. Cass did warn him not to ask stupid questions, once. “But why? Why would he take the blame for it if he’s not responsible?”

“Well, would you believe him if he told you he wasn’t? Maybe he thought it’d be easier to just apologise, rather than try to tell you he’s only partly to blame for one of the ways he hurt you.”

“Uh, no, probably not… I guess that makes sense, but, I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing he would do? He doesn’t even take the blame for things he _did_ do, why would he apologise for something he _didn’t?_ ”

Castiel is shaking his head again, but not in a condescending way. “Like I said, Sam, I don’t think you got the full picture of Lucifer before. I doubt I have the full picture either, but I do think I saw the sides of him that _really_ define who he is, beneath all the ego and daddy issues. And… I’m very sure the hallucinations don’t represent any real part of him. Do you want to know what really gave away that he wasn’t really messing around in my head?”

There’s a lilt to his voice that tells Sam that whatever Castiel’s about to say is meant to lighten the mood, which is rare for the angel, and always funny, either because he actually gets a joke right, or because he tries so hard that it’s funny anyways. “Yeah, what gave it away?”

“… I understood all _five_ of his jokes and pop culture references,” he answers with a smile in his voice.

Knowing how out-of-touch his friend was (and still is sometimes) with pop culture and humour, Sam can only imagine what those very few things were. He has to admit that the thought of Lucifer making nonsensical Enochian jokes and the same three superman, terminator, and ‘pizza man’ references over and over again amuses him _very_ greatly. Lucifer and Castiel are similar in many ways, but one thing that has really set Lucifer apart is how _easily_ he’s managed to fit into his life as a human. He’s nowhere near as awkward or lost as Castiel was.

And, now that Sam thinks about it, Castiel is right. His ‘hallucination-Lucifer’ never made a joke or quip he didn’t get. He never knew anything Sam didn’t know. That’s far from true of the Lucifer he’s come to know now. The ‘new-and-improved’ Lucifer seems to tell him something new every time they speak to one another, and more than once, he’s made a reference to something Sam hasn’t seen.

And so, Castiel’s attempt to lighten the mood works, but also gives Sam another reason to doubt that Lucifer really was tormenting him that entire time. Now he wonders if all his memories of the cage are true, too… no, they have to be. He couldn’t have possible thought up all those tortures on his own… he wouldn’t know what they felt like, if they weren’t real.

After a moment or two of silence after Sam’s laugh trails off, Castiel speaks up again, putting the conversation back on track. “Do you want me to tell you about the Lucifer I saw when I was possessed?”

“Yes,” Sam answers without hesitation, but his expression tells Castiel to hold off for a bit. “I want to hear your side, but… Maybe we should pull over and talk outside. A car isn’t a great place for this conversation.” The last thing Sam needs is to get distracted and crash them.

Castiel takes just a few seconds to respond, hesitating more because he’s thinking about his answer than because he’s debating the merits of pulling over. “Of course. I’d like a chance to stretch my legs anyways.”

“I don’t blame you; we’ve been driving for what, four hours now?”

“Something like that,” the angel responds, “I’ll drive the rest of the way. You should take a break.”

“Yeah, good idea. I’ll look for a good place to pull over for a few minutes.”

 

* * *

 

 

Fifteen minutes after he hung up on Castiel, Dean arrives at the bunker. _Too long_ , he worries, sparing the groceries in the back barely a thought before he decides they’re not worth wasting time on. He’s got to get Lucifer away from his mom as soon as possible. There’s too much potential for this situation to go very south, very quickly.

And hey, if he leaves the groceries, he’s got a reason to drag one of them back to the garage with him.

The garage/hanger door isn’t even fully shut before he’s across the room, through the door, and half-running towards the war room, where he assumes they’ll be. When they aren’t there, he checks the living room, and again, no dice.

Back in the War room again, he considers calling out their names, and only doesn’t when he hears a voice. Specifically, his mother’s voice, and very loud and stressed.

“You’re—what do you mean, _was???”_

Crap… that can’t be good. It’s coming from the kitchen, and Dean bolts down that hallways, praying to a God he doesn’t really believe in anymore that he’s not too late to keep Lucifer safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to LuxInvictus for checking this over for me! Hope y'all enjoyed this, and hey, we finally got back to Dean, even if it only was for 192 words. Don't worry, you'll get a whole lot more of him next chapter; I missed him too.
> 
> ~~And, spoiler alert: I think y'all might get a kiss next chapter, too! It only took what, 70k words???~~


	16. Good Times Bad Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I know what it means to be alone_  
>  _I sure do wish I was at home_  
>  _I don't care what the neighbors say_  
>  _I'm gonna love you each and every day_  
>  _You can feel the beat within my heart_  
>  _Realize, sweet babe, we ain't ever gonna part_  
>  \- Led Zeppelin
> 
> I promise I'm not dead yet. School has just been... insane. For those of you who don't know, I'm a Chem major in my junior year. I'm fuckin' married to this bitch and I want a divorce like you wouldn't even believe.

Lucifer held his hands up in surrender, doing his best not to further provoke the Winchesters’ mother. She doesn’t have a loaded firearm, but that doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous.

“You’re—what do you mean,  _was???”_ She glares at him incredulously, and if it were possible, Lucifer is sure her eyes would be on fire.

“ _Was_ ; as in, in the past—or not anymore?”

“I know what it  _means_ , smartass,” she growls, and her eyes flick back to her empty gun, considering taking it to whack him over the head with. “How can you  _not be Satan anymore?_ ” Perhaps she should be more worried about the fact that  _Lucifer himself_  tricked her into trusting him this easily, and she never once considered the possibility that it could  _actually_  be him… but she’s in a little shock, so she’s taking one issue at a time.

All things considered, Lucifer thinks, this could have gone worse. “Well, Satan is just a title… It’s kind of hard to be ‘The Adversary’ without any power and with no Legions of Hell to back me up. I couldn’t command a single hellhound now; let alone millions of demons.” He keeps his tone even and reasonable, but somehow he thinks that’s just making her  _more_  upset. “What I’m saying is; calling me Satan would be like… calling the United States ‘the colonies’. At one point, yes, this land was owned and colonised by Britain and various other countries. At one point, I indeed swore vengeance on God and made myself an enemy of heaven. And while both those titles will always stay with us, we’ve grown and become different,  _better_  things since. So; I  _was_  Satan. Now I’m just Lou, a guy who cooks, watches tv, and loves—” Lucifer cuts off as he catches sight of someone heading down the hallway, and relief floods his body language. “ _Dean_.”

“ _Wh_ _—_ ” Mary’s scowl deepens, and then she notices that he’s no longer looking at her, so she too, turns to poke her head out the doorway they’d been standing near, and sees her son heading towards them. Unlike Lucifer, the sight of him doesn’t give her any kind of relief, and though she realises the way Lucifer ended his sentence was unintentional, she can’t help but continue to simmer angrily about the mere  _thought_  that her son and  _the Devil_  might be in any way ‘involved’. “ _Dean Henry Winchester_ , you’ve got a  _lot_  to explain.”

Before Dean can respond, Lucifer realises what he just said and goes into panic-mode (or well, at least the panic is visibly noticeable now), as he desperately backtracks to correct himself. “Loves  _learning_. Learning about humanity. And culture. Or magic. Not—I… I  _meant_  to say  _learning_ ,”he finishes kinda lamely, frustrated with himself about the slip-up.

Dean, for his part, is wholly overwhelmed (and a bit amused despite himself). He’d been hoping that he could drag Lucifer away before things got ugly, but it’s looking like he’s about five minutes too late for that. The hostility from his mother and the rising panic from Lucifer tells him just about all he needs to know about how their conversation went.

However, Dean Winchester is nothing if not good under pressure, and his personal favourite tactic for diffusing a situation is with sarcasm or comedy. Lucifer first, because the former angel looks like he’s about to blow from all the stress. “Relax, Luce, I love you too.” He pats his friend on the shoulder, his heart clenching a bit unhappily as he forces himself to make light of those four words; teasing Lucifer in a strictly friendly manner, and winking to top it off. Then he addresses his mother, who he’s significantly more afraid of. (What kind of world does he live in, where his  _mom_ is more frightening than the Devil himself?)

Still, he’s got a talent for not being intimidated by anyone or anything; and if he can stare down Death himself, he can certainly deal with Mary Winchester.

Probably.

In any case, he’d much rather move on with this as opposed to analysing how much he wishes he had the balls to say those four words  _genuinely_  to Lucifer. “ _I_ have a lot to explain? Where have you  _been?_  You barely stay in touch anymore, and you never send us updates on your hunts, and you haven’t come back here _once_  since you left three months ago… He’s only been here two weeks, Mom. Maybe you’d  _know_ that if you bothered to check in on us more than just by text. But you don’t, so I didn’t tell you.”

 _…_  at least, that’s what he  _wishes_  he had the balls to say.

As it is, Dean’s at a loss for how to deal with his mother. A good part of him wants to just hug her and never let her leave again; the part of him that’s still just a five-year-old kid who loves and misses his mom. But the rest of him, the Dean that’s been seething the past three months and demanding for the answer to one question _—why?—_ is doing its damnedest to drown the former out. That part of him is calling for blood. That part of him wants to scream, yell, and make Mary Winchester answer for everything she's put him through. He knows he can’t let that part of him win out if he wants to have any kind of positive relationship with his mother, but she's making it real hard for him.

She  _left_  them, and he still doesn’t have an explanation for it besides “I need some space.” After that she really has no right to take that tone with him. They’ve given her all the space anyone could ever need. Yet, she only decides to come back  _now,_ demanding explanations for things that are  _none of her business?_

This is just about the worst possible time, too, between Sam and Castiel being two hours away, and Dean off running errands. He nearly popped a vein over all the worrying he did about Lucifer. If nothing else, at least now he can at least put his fears to rest. He made it in time. Small mercies.

It takes him a while, but he finally finds the words for what he needs to say to his mother. “… We both have a lot of explaining to do, mom. For now, what Lucifer is doing here is on a need-to-know basis, and all you need to know is that he’s a friend, and he’s staying here indefinitely. We can talk about this more after I deal with the groceries." And with that, he turns his attention back to Lucifer. "There's a lot, I left them in the car. Luce, will you come with me to grab them?” Although he can see that the situation isn’t as bad as he was expecting, his first goal is still to separate the two of them as soon as possible. He has a plan (for once), and he's sticking to it. 

One; separate his mom and Lucifer. Two; get Lucifer to update him and then send him to wait in his room. Three; deal with Mary. Should be easy enough, right?

Right.

Thankfully, Lucifer doesn’t protest or give him a hard time about leaving groceries in the car, like he normally would. “Yeah, of course.” He glances at Mary briefly, looking like he wants to say something, but then he decides against it, and doesn’t waste any more time heading out into the hallway before Dean.

Mary, however, is not nearly so compliant. “We can talk about this now. I’ll come with you.”

Dean closes his eyes briefly, his back already turned to her as he started to head towards the garage after Lucifer. “Mom, not now. Just, sit tight okay? I'll only be a minute."

He turns to look back at her, and she must've been able to see the stress and tiredness in his eyes, because after meeting that look, Mary did back off. "… Okay. But we're not done."

"Trust me, mom. We're not even close to done," Dean agrees, giving her a thankful nod before he continues down the hall, leaving her alone to wait for them.

Lucifer was already at the end of the hallway, waiting for him, so Dean jogged to catch up. They spoke at the same time, expressing the same notion in different words;

"You're a sight for sore eyes--"

"I'm glad you're okay," Dean gave the blonde a smile just before he flicked Lucifer's nose. "Don't scare me like that again."

"Ow!" The former angel rubs his nose indignantly, his expression reminding Dean of a displeased cat. "Don't scare  _you_  like that?  _I'm_  the one who got the Mary Winchester treatment. Does she interrogate  _all_  your friends?"

"Nope. Just you. Must be 'cause you're special."

"Special, huh?"

"Yeah.  _Real_  special."

"Special how, Dean?"

"Well, for one, you  _really love..._  Learning."

Lucifer's only response is to punch his asshole friend's shoulder, and Dean will admit, he definitely deserved every bit of the bruise Lucifer just gave him. That doesn't mean he can't still be offended about it though. "Oh, come  _on._  You had to know that was coming, Luce." 

"It was just a slip of the tongue," Lucifer says after a second, sounding both miffed and ashamed. "… I didn't mean it, Dean. Just let it go."

Dean considers pushing the subject, sensing there's more to it... but he stops, because what would he achieve? Either he'll just try to get a false confession out of the man, and make an ass of himself, or he'll force Lucifer to admit something he may not be ready to admit, and still make an ass of himself.

So, he drops it. It hurts, to just accept that the confession was nothing more than a mistake, but since when is anything painless for Dean Winchester? "Was that a Frozen reference, you dork?"

There's a soft huff of laughter from the blonde. "Depends, do you still hate that movie?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"In that case, absolutely. One hundred percent intentional."

The hunter shakes his head with a laugh, unable to even pretend to be annoyed with the other man, he's still so relieved to find him in one piece. "Good to know a little scare doesn't make you any less of an ass."

"What can I say?" Lucifer grins at his friend. At some point, they had fallen into step with one another. "You bring out the best in me." After a second, the smile faded, and Dean let him change the subject instead of continuing on with their usual inane banter. "Speaking of scare... what's the plan? How are we going to get Mary to keep this under wraps...?  _Can_  we? Or will I..."

He didn't finish, but Dean could guess what he meant. 'will I have to go somewhere else?' Or 'will I need to add  _all_ hunters to the list of things I'm hiding from?' … anything along those lines. "Luce, don't stress about it. I'll... talk to her. Okay? We'll figure something out," he frowns a little, but it's not aimed at Lucifer. "If I can't convince mom to keep this to herself just on trust... I'll find another way. You won't have to worry about her, I promise."

Normally, Lucifer would scoff at such a vague and uncertain promise... but when it comes to Dean Winchester, he knows that when the man has his mind set on something, he'll stop at nothing to see it through all the way to the end. Dean is both trustworthy and reliable... truly a righteous man. "Okay. I'll hold you to that, Dean." The words are said lightly, to indicate his trust in Dean's ability to follow through, rather than saying it as a threat. 

There was brief, comfortable silence where they just continued towards the garage. ('Garage' hardly covers it; the place is big enough to hold a small plane). Lucifer spoke again once Dean opened the door for him. "So, why'd you really ask me to help you with the groceries? I didn't ask you to get much..."

Dean shoots the other man a look that says 'you're kidding, right?' to which Lucifer responds with an expressive brow. After their silent exchange, Dean sounds a bit incredulous. "Wait, you're serious? Dude, why do you think? Hunters and Monsters don't really mix, and my Mom's kinda old-fashioned."

The second he finished that sentence, Lucifer got a look on his face like he's been struck, and then he quickly masked it. A second later, Dean realised what he just said. "Wait—no, that came out wrong. I just mean—I don't think you're—well,  _anymore_ —"

"It's fine, Dean. I understand," Lucifer cuts him off, and yet, the way he says that tells Dean that it absolutely  _isn't_  fine.

It hit him, then, how it must've struck Lucifer. First his older brother calls him a monster, and now that older brother's human equivalent so casually refers to him as one? Dean, who is pretty sure he's Lucifer's only human friend… It must sting, a whole damn lot. He's gotta fix this. "It's not fine. I shouldn't have called you something you aren't." Lucifer looks like he's about to stop Dean again, but the hunter barrels on before the blonde can get a word in. "I don't—Lucifer, you should know by now that I don't think before I say shit most of the time. What I mean is, I'm sorry. I only wanted to separate you two so I could make sure you're safe."

The blonde nods, but still seems to be intentionally distancing himself from Dean. And, well, Dean isn't sure the treatment is undeserved. Seems like he went ahead and made an ass of himself anyways. He considers reaching for Lucifer's shoulder, but he doesn't think it would be appreciated, so he keeps his hands to himself. "… I really am sorry, dude. Tell me how to fix this."

"I already said it's fine, Dean. Everyone says things they don't mean sometimes."

"Then what's with that look you're giving me?"

"What look?"

" _That_  look. C'mon, Luce, don't—"

"Don't what? Be upset? Are you going to try to tell me how to think, too, Dean?"

"I didn't say that—"

"You didn't have to."

There's a pause, during which Lucifer can practically feel Dean's regret rolling off of him in waves. It does little to appease him, but Lucifer knows he'll forgive the man soon enough—it's _Dean—_ and more than likely, he'll regret being so thorny about such a minor mistake, so, when he breaks the silence, he does so with a softer tone. "Just... get on with why else you dragged me here. You could have just as easily taken your mother if you only wanted to separate us."

Dean didn't like leaving things unresolved, but he also didn't really want to push Lucifer any further than he already had, at present. "… Right. Uh, I wanted to know what exactly you've told her. Mind giving me the cliff notes version?"

Lucifer pushes aside his issues for the time being, recognising that this problem needs to be dealt with first. He wishes now that he hadn't opened the door for Mary Winchester. "Your mother has a very... intense personality. In any other situation, I think we'd get along very well. As it is, I don't think she has a very high opinion of me. Which, is odd, because up until I told her my full name, she seemed to like me well enough. Before telling her my name, I told her I was an angel, that I helped you against Amara, and that we met, but were not friends during the apocalypse. I told her I lost my grace and am now human, though I didn't explain how. She was under the impression that I was some nobody angel until she essentially told me to tell her my name or forfeit any trust I had earned from her. Which, considering the outcome, was a lose-lose scenario."

"Why didn't you just say your name was Heylel, like you did with Kevin?"

"I considered it... but all that would achieve is her finding out who I am later, when she inevitably looks it up, and then finding out that I mislead her. At least this way, I have indisputable honesty on my side. I never once lied to her, and I didn't mislead her. If I'm to trust her with my location and identity... I'd like to make sure I give her every reason to trust me, too."

"… Fair enough. I'm guessing she didn't take it well? You're lucky she didn't shoot you."

"Not lucky; she gave me the gun's bullets before I answered her." Lucifer held them up, because he still had the cartridge in hand, and until that point, he'd pretty much forgotten that he did.

"That's an old trick, Lucifer," Dean gave the former archangel a sympathetic smile, "Any hunter worth their salt has back-up ammo on hand, and it doesn't take long to reload and fire a handgun." "It's a good sign that she didn't, though. Best case scenario, you made a good enough first impression to make her think twice about putting a hole in your head."

"Well," Lucifer starts bitterly, "that wasn't long before you showed up, so maybe she was just too surprised to shoot me. In which case, thanks for swooping in and saving the day."

Dean took a second to pop open the hood of the Impala before responding. "You know me, that's what Sam and I do. Saving people, hunting things... we do our best."

Lucifer rolled his eyes as he helped Dean gather the groceries together, but he did notice how Dean went out of his way to make a point of calling Lucifer a person, and not lumping him in with the 'things' category. The gesture was appreciated, and went a little ways towards appeasing Lucifer's temper. "This really isn't a two-person job," the former angel changes the subject, holding three of the bags while Dean holds the other two. "I can put this stuff away while you talk to your mom, and join you two once you've gotten everything sorted out with her."

"Actually," Dean holds his two bags in one hand, and reaches for two of Lucifer's, "I was hoping I could get you to lay low in your room for a little while, at least until I know she isn't going to open fire on you. I know it's not really—"

"Sounds good to me."

"Wait, really?"

The angel couldn't help but let the corner of his lips turn up a bit at Dean's surprise. The smile didn't last long. "Yes, really. Just make sure you come get me once you've set things straight with her." He handed his last bag to Dean, who had no trouble carrying all five, of course. He understood why Dean expected him to argue about being sent to his room... but really, Dean should have realised Lucifer wouldn't have an issue with it. After all, he's spent the last three months of his life hiding from one thing or another... At least this particular person can likely be reasoned with, and perhaps be convinced that he doesn't need to be hunted down.

Hopefully.

"Yeah, of course. You still owe me lunch, don't think I've forgotten." Dean shuts the trunk with a  _thump,_  and re-adjusts his grip on the grocery sacks.

Lucifer rolls his eyes. "And you'll get it, as soon as I don't have to worry about your mom getting trigger happy on me." 

"I'll try not to take too long, then," Dean promises, tone light.

The former archangel turns his back to Dean, lifting a hand in a brief farewell before he starts to head back out towards his room. "You know where to find me."

Dean watched him go for a second or two, sensing that Lucifer wasn't interested in his company for the moment, and not really being able to blame him. Then, he too left the room, heading back to the kitchen.

* * *

Sam slowed to a stop outside an old barnhouse. There was a newer one not far off in the distance, which had obviously replaced the aged and weathered one they pulled up outside of. The doors were padlocked shut at one point, but it was immediately apparent that teens had been circumventing the rusty chains for years. The doors stood slightly ajar; as far as the half-hearted countermeasure would allow. It didn't take much effort for Sam and Castiel to duck inside and get out of the sun.

Castiel ran a hand along the peeling paint of an old horse-stable door while Sam unscrewed the top of a beer he'd pulled from the backseat cooler. Both men took a moment to inspect the barn and ensure that they're alone before speaking. Sam was the first to break the silence. "Well, this is sufficiently eerie. Tell me about your brother."

"I don't like it here much," Castiel responds, avoiding the question while he ruminates on his answer. "It reeks of... bodily fluids."

"No place for an angel, huh?" Sam jokes, not looking nearly as disgusted as Castiel. To be frank, this old barn reminds him of a lot of great college memories, and late nights sneaking away from their motel room during his high school years. It's only the emptiness and silence that throws him off about this place.

The brunette hums in agreement before giving his retort. "No place for anyone, I think." Sam notices the slight echo their voices create as they bounce around the high roof and the rafters, and that echo only serves to accentuate how empty and still this falling-apart building is. Like he said; eerie.

Castiel's eyes roam for another moment or so before he focuses his attention on Sam, moving closer to the hunter as he decides on what he's going to say. "You must realise, there are many different factors between our two experiences with Lucifer. For one, I shared a body with him for several weeks, whereas you only had a day or so to make your judgements on him. That said, I don't mean to diminish or falsify anything you experienced at his hand; I only wish to put my experience in context for you."

Sam nods to indicate his understanding, half-sitting on, half-leaning against an old barrel as he listens with rapt attention.

"As I believe I told you before, when I said Yes to him, Lucifer wasn't even close to the high point he was at when he was possessing you. In fact, if I had to make a judgement on it, I'd say he's been hovering between 'all-time-low' and 'well, it could be worse' ever since leaving the cage." With that assessment, Castiel's tone becomes vaguely reminiscent of when Lucifer was possessing him, giving the impression that his older brother had rubbed off on him in some small way. "He knew he couldn't fight Amara alone, but was desperate to prove himself—to whom, I couldn't tell you. Perhaps for the sake of his own pride, which wouldn't surprise me, actually." 

Castiel pauses, realising something about that statement that doesn't quite add up. "However, his pride took many hits during his quest to defeat the Darkness. More than anything, he hated that he needed his demons to achieve his ends. He despises them. He hated that he needed you and your brother, too. Or, at least, that he  _needed_  Dean. Lucifer's independence is very important to him, so being forced to rely on not only me, but two humans, and any demons at all—and then being forced to go slinking back to  _heaven_  of all places for help... was really a low point for him. It may not seem like it from an outside standpoint... but all of that was incredibly difficult for him, and it goes to show how genuine his desire to defeat Her was."

Sam could agree with at least parts of that. He didn't doubt that Lucifer wanted to win—what he doubted was his motivation. He also knows first-hand about Lucifer's loathing for demonkind, and he's sure it wasn't easy for the former archangel to rely on them—or anyone but himself, for that matter. But again, that could all easily be motivated by his own destructive ambitions, so Sam doesn't see how those points should make him sympathise with the being. So, Lucifer had to do stuff he didn't like. Boo-frickin'-hoo.

Castiel can tell he's not doing the best job of explaining why he believes in Lucifer now. It's something Sam can't possibly understand, simply because he has next to no context as to the  _extent_  of Lucifer's pride. Castiel grew up hearing the stories. He's got a very clear of idea as to how motivated Lucifer had to be in order to overcome his pride. No promise of lordship, power, or revenge would be enough. Whatever was driving Lucifer was much stronger than his ambition, of that Castiel is certain. Lucifer kept that detail to himself, but from the way he  _refused_  to give up, Castiel came to the conclusion that Lucifer felt duty-bound to deal with her. He was her original jailor, so if she's free now, that's his wrong to right.

Regardless of who else may or may not have been involved, her release is ultimately his failure, and Lucifer simply couldn't stand to let her consume all of creation without a fight from him.

It's a motivation Castiel is intimately familiar with, after his experiences with Purgatory and the creatures within.

But Castiel wouldn't even know where to begin to explain that to Sam, so he aborts the point, and tries to find something Sam can more easily relate to. "Perhaps it's just me... but I found myself often overwhelmed by the strength of Lucifer's emotions." It could possibly be due to Castiel's own stunted emotional range, but he thinks it's more than that—that Lucifer has a tendency to get exceedingly... ' _passionate'_  about things. "He could go from content, to enraged, to disheartened all within the span of a few seconds, and I usually had a hard time keeping up. More often than not, I tuned it out, if you or Dean were not involved. But on many occasions, he simply would not be ignored. I can't begin to tell you of the veritable hurricane of thoughts and feelings that hit when we saw God again. Anger, pain, resentment... and at the centre of it all, this lingering, reluctant but ever-enduring hope that their relationship can be salvaged. I was surprised to see that, most of all. Endless centuries in the cage, and he still held out hope for them."

That seems to strike a nerve with Sam, so Castiel continues before he loses momentum. "I'd seen hints of it many times before, but then, more than ever, I saw that beneath all that bravado he has, he wants forgiveness. But he's also been hurt and punished beyond what he believes to be reasonable, and his pride demands an apology before he can even consider giving one in return. I wish you could have seen the change in him the moment our Father apologised... I don't know how exactly to explain it. That hope, that I mentioned before. It was like some kind of switch flipped, and all the fire that had been fuelling his anger was instead feeding his hope, and he seemed to be... much more at peace. There was a definite difference in his attitude towards Heaven. When we went to ask for assistance... it didn't grate on his nerves  _nearly_  as much as it did before. He even asked me to help convince them, admitting that he wouldn't be able to on his own. For me, that seemed surreal. I said Yes to him because I believed there was nothing I could do that he couldn't do better, and yet—"

"—hold on." Sam stops him, reaching out without thinking to grab Castiel's shoulder, and his attention. "Cass, you know that we would have taken you powerless over Lucifer possessing you any day, right? You're our  _friend_ , you don't owe us anything, and you don't have to 'do' anything, or be 'useful' for us to want you around, whatever you think those things mean. I'd rather have you watching my back than as a meatsuit for anyone, you got that? You promise you won't pull anything like that again?"

Castiel glances briefly at Sam's hand, but otherwise keeps eye-contact with the hunter throughout the entire speech. His heart swells at Sam's words. The angel wanted nothing more than to just accept the reassurances he's craved for so long from the Winchesters, but he does have to make a few things clear. "… I promise that I'll try to avoid making that error again. And I... understand, and I feel the same way towards you, Sam. And Dean." He pauses, swallowing, and fighting to not let exactly how moved he is by Sam's words show. It's like there's a lump in his throat, one which he knows doesn't actually exist. "But, I think, even with this knowledge, and put in that situation again, I'd make the same choice. We didn't know how long Rowena was going to take. I didn't know how much longer  _I_  would last, let alone you or Dean. Sam, he wasn't going to give up until he got a Yes from someone. He'd have killed me first, and then beat Dean to within an inch of his life until you said Yes. I... couldn't bear to make you choose between us and your consent. I waited until I knew he was seconds away from ending me, I gave Rowena as long as I could, and then I took your place. I... regret that my choice hurt you anyways. But I stand by my decision."

"You think he would have killed you, and you're still defending him?"

"Firstly, neither of us knew each other even an eighth as well as we do now. I didn't know what he would or wouldn't have done, not for sure. I like to think that now, he'd think twice before killing me. Secondly, he was desperate. I've attempted worse than murder when I was less desperate than he was. Had you or Dean posed a viable threat to me while I was possessed of all the souls within purgatory, I wouldn't have spared a second thought to your deaths."

Only Cass can say that in that matter-of-fact tone, not apologetic in the slightest, and not sound like an asshole. Sam smiles a bit to himself, and shakes his head. "… Thanks, Cass."

"I don't understand your gratitude, Sam. What I said wasn't—" He halts, and then looks mildly abashed. "That was sarcasm."

The hunter nods, his smile widening a little before his expression fades back into something more serious. "It was, but I do want to actually thank you for dealing with Lucifer. I know that saying Yes wasn't easy, but it paid off in the end. You made the right choice, but not because Lucifer was the better option. You made the right choice, because it kept you alive. You're pretty much our best friend, Cass. No; you're family. Neither of us wants to see you dead."

Again, Castiel's heart swells with emotion at the praise, and the affirmations he's desired to hear out loud for so long. He's glad that he's had so much time recently to spend with Sam, because he knows he'd never hear these things from Dean. He's always found it easier to speak to Sam, anyways. 

His relationship with Dean is... different. More complicated. More profound, in some ways, but that just serves to make Castiel feel like he constantly has to live up to some undefined standard. Dean owes Cass his life multiple times over, but Castiel has abused Dean's loyalty at least that many times. Just when the angel thinks he's figured out what to do and what not to do around Dean, some new complex problem arises, and Cass always seems to make the wrong choice in his eyes, no matter how logical that choice was. So the trust between them is... fractured. Not irreparable; just fragile.

Sam is different in that Castiel knows there are no expectations between them. He's fallen from grace, and Sam is an abomination. They've both made so many mistakes that it would be hypocritical of either one to judge the other. And unlike Dean, Sam is willing to listen to and accept Castiel's reasoning for the seemingly poor decisions he makes.

In short, Castiel is very glad he's having this conversation with Sam. "You're... welcome, Sam. Though, I think I should be thanking you. I needed to hear that."

Sam smiles again at his friend, and pats Castiel's shoulder before letting his hand drop back to his side. "Don't mention it, Cass. Now... do you think you could keep telling me about Lucifer? I think... I need to hear you talk about being possessed. It helps, as weird as that probably is." It really does. Something about Castiel's description of his possession and of his shared experiences with Lucifer added a new depth to Sam's own memories of his possession. It's helping him with his Gadreel experience too; working through the complexity of that mess. Maybe those theatre girls knew what they were talking about with the whole 'actually discussing your problems' thing.

"Of course," Castiel responds warmly (by his standards, at least), "I don't think it's weird at all. In all honesty, it feels good to talk about this with you. Very...."

"Therapeutic?"

"Yes, I believe that's the word." The angel inclines his head, and then makes his way to lean against a closed stable gate near Sam's barrel. "Where was I...?"

"I think you were telling me how much Chuck's apology changed him. But I don't get it, he's angry at Chuck again anyways, 'cause He left. He said as much when he came to us." Sam pauses, knowing his argument is a little weak—Lucifer really has every right to be angry with Chuck this time. But he's still a pre-law student, so he has to bring every argument to the table, just to satisfy his own skepticism. "How can you be sure he's not just... all rage again? What if he blames us for Chuck leaving? I know he's not a great liar, but he is a pretty damn good actor. He fooled Dean and I into thinking he was you for a couple weeks; and we only found out because he got tired of it."

That's a bit of a sore point for Castiel. Because of Lucifer, he's been made very aware of his own voice and demeanour, to the point that he's more than a little self-conscious about it now. He's always known he's a little on the odd side as far as angels and humans go... but Lucifer openly teased him about it. He's not the first... but it's a little more personal when he's mocking Castiel with his own voice and in his own head. "I'm aware... but to be fair, it wasn't so much  _acting_  as, not correcting you on what you believed to be true. You had no reason to think Lucifer was anywhere but the cage. And beyond that, he had minimal contact with the both of you. You spoke directly with him, what, three times before he gave himself up?"

Sam nods, but still doesn't seem wholly convinced. "I guess that's a fair point," Castiel is probably right... but he still can't,  _won't_  forgive Lucifer for pretending to be his best friend. It's nice to know now that at least the experience wasn't as horrible for Castiel as it was for Sam. He still wants to kick Lucifer out for many, many reasons... but he's grateful at least that he didn't harm his friend.

Speaking of harm... "Hey, so, a little off-topic, but... You two looked really bad when Metatron, Donatello, and I came to rescue you. What did Amara... do?"

"I actually wanted to talk to you about that," Castiel admits, his brows drawing together somewhat. "In part because that experience really showed what Lucifer cares about, and in part because... I was nearly destroyed by the darkness, and, I've never been so scared."

Sam senses a touch of vulnerability in that statement that Castiel rarely ever shows... and it prompts him to put an arm around his friend, and pull him in for a one-armed hug. He doesn't say anything, just pulling his friend tight to his side for a brief second and then releasing, but leaving his arm where it is.

Castiel isn't complaining. "I know I've died before, Sam, but I've never had time to...  _think_  about it. She left us alone for long periods of time between attempts to make Lucifer call for God's help. And during those times... all I could think was 'I'm never going to see Sam and Dean again'." Here, he looks up at his friend, and finally relaxes a little against Sam's side. "I was tempted many times to give up and call out for God myself... Lucifer was the only thing keeping me from doing so. I have to admire him; he took the brunt of her torture and still he remained the stronger of the two of us. He kept telling me that as long as we didn't give her what she wanted, there's still a chance we'll see the light of day again." Castiel smiled a little wryly, remembering back. "I kept saying it's easier said than done, and that he doesn't know what it's like to have friends he wants to see again... I think that hurt his feelings." The smile fades a little as he says the last bit, and Sam can sense the guilt in his tone. 

"...He made a deal with me. I wasn't allowed to give up unless he cried. And, he didn't. He never shed a tear. She beat him, twisted his wings, stretched his grace as far as it could go without dissipating... and he still refused to call God into a trap. I wonder, sometimes, if some of that resilience  **[[ROLL CREDITS]]** came from him not wanting to call out, and find that God doesn't care enough to come for him..."

Sam nods, feeling a muted pang of sympathy for the devil. It made sense, even if Sam's original thought had been that Lucifer had too much pride to call out for help. But after hearing Castiel's description and knowing how bad Lucifer looked when they rescued him... No amount of pride would have been enough to his wellbeing second like that. Fear is a much more effective, and much more  _likely_ , source of motivation.

"… At least, I feared for the same thing," Castiel admits, looking down. "I can't tell you how relieved I was to see you. I was even happy to see Metatron, which is something I never thought I'd say." Sam snorts at that, putting a smile back on the seraph's face. "He won't ever admit it, of course, but Lucifer was happy to see you too." He was also disappointed... but that was quickly overpowered with relief. Sam doesn't need to know that Lucifer was hoping for a different knight in shining armour—literally  _anyone_  else, if Castiel was understanding his thought process correctly.

Castiel was thrilled to see Sam, which put him a bit at-odds with his older brother. Lucifer's pride was already stinging because he needed to be rescued by a human; a fact which was only made harder to swallow by that human being the very one that had insulted, rejected, and thwarted him time after time after time. He couldn't think of a more obnoxious person to owe his life to.

However, Castiel was the polar opposite. He was a bit disappointed to not see Dean as well—he's starting to get used to that though... between Dean never calling him like he promised to when he was struggling to make it as a human; Dean running off with Crowley to take on the Mark; and this most recent venture... Castiel knows now that Dean was helping by distracting Amara, but the fact that he was disappointed, yet not  _surprised_  to see that Dean hadn't come should say something.

Regardless, though their levels of happiness to see Sam Winchester was different, they were ultimately both at least  _relieved_  to see him.

Sam smiled a little as Castiel told him what Lucifer likely never will, briefly imagining the blonde begrudgingly thanking him for coming to save his ass. He got quite a bit of amusement from the image, mainly because of how entirely unlikely it seemed. "Ah, he doesn't have to thank me, or even tell me any of that. I didn't come for him. I mean, we needed him, but that was more of an excuse to come and save you." Neither Sam nor Dean wanted to leave Castiel to Amara's whims for long. So when God showed up, Sam figured that not only could they get and extra hand if they saved Lucifer, but they could maybe get Chuck to separate the two of them and give them Cass back. Sam asked, the first chance that he had a moment alone with God after they'd recused Lucifer and Cass. He was given the same reason that he'd been given when they asked if He could bring back one of the other archangels; Chuck needed to save his power for the fight.

Sam understood... but that doesn't mean he has to like the answer. At least they have Castiel back, and Lucifer still kind-of on their side, now in separate bodies.

The seraph was warmed by Sam's words, and found himself very glad that Sam hadn't taken the arm from around his shoulders. He also found himself very glad that Dean wasn't here, because he just  _knows_  that the other hunter would have shattered this 'chick-flick moment' (as he would likely dub it) with some sarcastic comment.

And, well, maybe Cass  _likes_  chick-flick moments.

The comfortable silence lasts a little while longer before Sam breaks it, finally releasing Cass' shoulders. "Speaking of things Lucifer won't say, though, I probably won't have to worry about him ever asking Dean out. And Dean's one of the most oblivious people I've ever met when it comes to people being interested versus not interested in him."

The seraph rolls his eyes, quietly missing Sam's arm around his shoulders as he responds, "You can say that again. It must be a Winchester thing."

A short  laugh leaves Sam's lips at Castiel's blunt assessment. "Yowch, is that bitterness I sense? Did you have a thing for Dean too?" With the way those two stare at each other sometimes... well, Sam wouldn't exactly be surprised.

The question is met with a soft huff of breath. Laugher or annoyance, Sam couldn't tell. "Dean and I do share a...  _profound_  bond, but no. Not for Dean.”

Castiel’s response leaves Sam very confused, until he realised that the angel said a ‘ _Winchester_ ’ thing, and a possibility crosses his mind that he’d never let himself consider to be true. After all, he’s an abomination, Castiel had said it himself on many an occasion… how could an angel love him? “Wait… you don’t mean— _me_?”

Castiel meets Sam’s eyes then, and the hunter finally knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of one of his quiet, intense stares. Castiel feels his gut twist in a way he doesn’t quite recognise, but doesn’t dislike either, as Sam hits the nail squarely on the head. Castiel is… not great at interpersonal relations, and he never expected to get as far as actually admitting his feelings for Sam. He can’t help but feel reluctant to answer Sam… knowing that regardless of how this goes, whether Sam accepts or rejects him… their friendship won’t be the same.

It isn’t too late yet to take it back. He could tell Sam he’s just making a joke, awkwardly laugh it off, and things could go back to normal. But… he doesn’t want that.

So with a swallow, he takes the plunge. “Sam, don’t ask stupid questions.”

Before Sam can even begin to decipher what Castiel means by that, he's being pulled down to Castiel's height... And then he's being kissed, and all other thoughts become irrelevant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... I did say _a_ kiss. I didn't specify with whom.
> 
> plsdon'thurtme
> 
> Anyways, enjoy, for you Sastiel shippers. There _will_ be more coming. I can't guarantee that it'll be soon though, 'cause I've still got a hell of a lot on my plate.


	17. Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mother,_  
>  _Tell your children not to walk my way_  
>  _Tell your children not to hear my words_  
>  _What they mean_  
>  _What they say_  
>  _Mother..._  
>  \- Danzig

“Sam, don’t ask stupid questions.” Thankfully, Castiel still has most of his angelic strength, so he’s able to take hold of the front of Sam’s flannel and pull him down just enough to kiss him, not intending to make the contact last very long. He just has to make his point.

He attempts to pull back just enough to speak, to try to explain himself perhaps, but Sam doesn’t let him, grabbing hold of Castiel’s face and  _kissing him back_. The seraph feels no inclination to fight it, and takes Sam’s returned interest as all the answer he needs. Sam’s lips tell him  _yes, I want_ _this_ , over and over as Castiel tries to keep up with the growing intensity of their kiss. 

Neither one can quite tell who initiated the change in position, but by the time they break apart, the edge of the barrel is digging into the small of Castiel’s back, and Sam is pressed against him from the other side, keeping him there. The hunter’s hands cup the angel’s face, while Castiel’s grip stays tight on Sam’s flannel, as if he’s afraid that Sam will disappear if he lets go.

Sam’s the one who finally breaks away—when he needs breath. His hands don’t leave Castiel’s face, and when he meets the other’s eyes again, both of their gazes are full of a mixture of excitement, desire, and more than a little worry that they might've done something wrong.

Sam is the first to speak, the corner of his mouth turning up a bit nervously. “You need to work on your flirting, Cass."

"To be fair," the angel starts off in his own defence, "all of my experience in this field comes from roughly five minutes of a pornographic film," experience which he used to pickpocket a demon, "Dean dragging me to a... club, a reaper who tried to kill me, and one of my probably equally as inexperienced sisters." Hannah, who also turned out not to have his best interests at heart. He's had... very bad luck with romance thus far. Which, in all honesty, is probably why he hasn't made a move on Sam until now. The last thing he wants is to mess up something with him, one of his only two friends in the entire world.

The angel's response pulls a soft snort from Sam, who still hasn't made a move to take his hands off of the other. "Remind me to show you The Notebook or something when we have a chance." He's infinitely glad that Dean isn't here, because if his brother knew he had not only seen that movie, but  _like_ _d_  it too... he'll never hear the end of it.

"You have a notebook for this? I'd greatly apprecia--"

Sam is torn between laughing and interrupting, so in order to keep from doing the former while he achieves the latter without being rude, he cuts Castiel off with a quick kiss. It's not as prolonged as their first, but it feels just as nice. So, maybe he kinda just wanted to kiss Cass again, too. Sue him. "It's a movie, dude. A chick-flick, to be more specific. Which means we can't tell Dean about it."

Of course it's a movie. Castiel feels silly just long enough for embarrassment to cross his face before the feeling is overtaken by a new concern. (By this point, Castiel's made minor pop-culture mistakes enough times for the passing embarrassment to mean little to nothing to him. At least Sam doesn't make a big deal out of his cluelessness, unlike others have. He just gently clues him in, which Castiel greatly appreciates. The newly added kiss is a nice plus, too.) However, at the mention of dean, a new worry overtakes his features. "Speaking of not telling Dean things... do you want to tell him about... this?"

Sam doesn't hesitate for very long. "Of course I do. But maybe we should figure out what... this is, first. You know? Maybe we should just give it some time, figure out what we want before we bring him into the equation. I don't want Dean's opinion to affect what we choose, negatively  _or_  positively. Does that make sense?"

"It does," Castiel nods, finding Sam's answer to be somewhat of a relief. He knows how protective Dean is of Sam, and frankly, he doesn't want to find out whether his only other friend in the world thinks he's worthy of his brother or not. Especially not before he knows how committed he and Sam intend to be. "And I agree. We'll tell Dean when we're more certain. Assuming he doesn't figure it out on his own."

"He won't," Sam's smile makes him look kind of like an overexcited puppy, an analogy that Castiel came up with once, and hasn't been able to un-see since. "This is Dean we're talking about. He doesn't remember his own birthday unless I remind him sometimes." He never forgets to wish Sam a happy birthday, though. And if that doesn't characterise their relationship perfectly, Sam doesn't know what  _does_.

The angel smiles in response, not totally set at ease, but at least amused enough not to worry about it right now. "I see your point." He's still very close to Sam, and there's a moment where he thinks they're going to kiss again, but it passes before either one of them acts on it. He... finds himself wishing he'd taken the chance. Instead, he finds himself pulling away gently. "We should get back on the road, or lunch will be cold before we get back. I'll drive."

Sam nods, taking Castiel's hand and leading the way back out of the barn. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

There's a bit of hesitation as they reach the car, when Castiel realises he doesn't want to let go of Sam's hand, but he has to in order to walk around to the driver's side. He opens the passenger door for Sam, letting the hunter get inside before deciding what to do next. With a smile, he leans down with his forearm on the edge of the roof to support him. "Before I start driving, can I kiss you again?"

There's a hint of pink in Sam's cheeks as he returns the smile. It could be the heat, but Castiel chooses to interpret it as a blush. "Now who's asking stupid questions?"

Yeah, Castiel decides that he doesn't regret kissing Sam one bit. The world could end right now, and he'd be a happy angel.

 

* * *

 

Mary's beer is finished and she's tapping her fingers against the side of the empty bottle impatiently when Dean gets back to her. When she sees he's alone, her frown deepens, and she de-cocks her pistol, which she had reloaded and was holding behind her back. Dean finds himself really glad that he had the foresight to not bring Lucifer back here. "Really, Mom? You were gonna try to shoot him? Lucifer?"

She flips the safety back on her gun and stows it away in the back of her jeans. "He said he was human for now. I figured I'd see for myself if he's telling the truth."

The hunter sets his groceries down on one of the metal countertops that still has some space available. He rolls his eyes as he starts to pull out the things he needs to refrigerate. "He is. He hasn't lied to you. He really is on our side, and he really does need Sam's and my help. And I promised to protect him, so you'll have to shoot me first if you wanna get to him." He didn't mean to come off sounding so hostile, but it turned out that way, and he can't really take it back now.

Mary watches him put away the ground beef, looking like she doesn’t quite know what to say for a moment. "… what are you getting out of this agreement? Why do you care so much? He's—"

Dean cuts her off, shooting her a look of warning. "—not as bad as the bible makes him out to be. Not all monsters are evil, Mom. And just because he's not human doesn't mean he's a monster, either. Besides, I'm not stupid. We didn't take him in on blind faith. You saw the tattoos on his arms, right?"

Mary nods, recalling what Lucifer told her about them. She did sense that he didn't tell her the whole story. "He said they proved he was bound to you? As your guardian angel or something?"

Dean nods, standing up and facing her now that the perishables have been dealt with. "It's a little more than that. It connects his life to ours. If we both die, so does he. Unless he binds himself to someone else before then. He explained to me that becoming a guardian angel is kind of... the ultimate decision to pledge himself into the service of humanity. He either keeps finding humans to protect for the rest of eternity, or he dies with the last human he chooses to bind himself to. It's kind of... extreme. And choosing to be someone's guardian is supposed to be this profound declaration of love and devotion, or a declaration that he believes that person to be worthy of his protection. So, I feel kinda bad, now that I know so much more about it. It's supposed to be this really special thing and we're using it to put a gun to his head and make him behave or die. His life is on a countdown now, one which Sam and I can pull the plug on at any time. So before you judge him too harshly, keep that in time. His days are numbered, whether he gets his grace back or not. Do you really want to rob him of the chance to balance the books a little and do some good before he dies?"

Mary is quiet for a moment, mulling over what Dean told her. She didn't know about that part, but she can understand why Lucifer didn't bother explaining it to her. That seems like something that's... highly personal. And beyond that, he probably doesn't want to think about his looming mortality any more than he has to. She almost wishes that Dean hadn't told her, because despite herself, she's beginning to pity the devil's situation. He's evidently had to give up a lot just in order to stay alive.

Suddenly, his fatalism about change and the universe moving on with or without her is really put into perspective. She's always been a sympathetic soul no matter how hard she tries to bury it with logic and reason, and even knowing who he is now, it's hard to keep hating him while her son defends him so staunchly.

Still, there has to be some angle he could be working from. "Okay, say all this is true—"

"We have Cass' word. He explained the rules of it to us."

"Alright, but what's to stop Lucifer from pledging himself to some degenerate that wants to start the apocalypse?"

Dean sighs internally, but knows that he'll have to answer all her questions and satisfy her suspicions to keep her off Lucifer's ass. "He can't pledge himself to any soul that's hell-bound. Guess that's good news for Sam and I. Though I think the way that Cass put it, our souls are still undecided. Something about us being tied up in the fate of the universe or some bullshit." He shakes his head, leaning back against the refrigerator tiredly. "And before you ask, he can't pick just any clueless sucker either. Sam's his true vessel and I'm Michael's, which makes us important enough to be chosen. He could choose a really talented hunter, or a prophet, or a Nobel Peace Prize winner, but they have to be someone that has some impact on the world, or the spell won't stick. Part of the inscriptions he writes on his arm is his reason for choosing to bind himself to that person, and whatever higher power controls all that hooky mojo won't seal the binding if there isn't a worthwhile reason." Dean doesn't know what Lucifer wrote for Sam or himself. He's not great at reading Enochian yet, and the former Archangel hasn't really shown his tattoos off either. Castiel says he saw it, but it's a personal thing, and it's Lucifer's right to tell them himself if he wants to. Dean is more than willing to respect his privacy in this case.

"Huh," Mary responds eloquently, mirroring Dean's body language by leaning against the edge of the island. "So there really isn't an easy way out of this for him, is there? And you're sure that's how it works? Who decides who's worthy or not?"

Her son shrugs, pushing away from the fridge so he can open it and grab himself a beer. "Hell if I know how all that hoo-doo works. But I trust Cass, and he says them's the brakes. Lucifer's stuck with humanity for good, whether he likes it or not."

This time, Mary's silence drags on much longer. She's out of questions to ask, and now she's re-evaluating her perception of Lucifer. Trying to form an opinion of him without the stigma of him being Satan is harder than she thought. Her first impressions of him play a large role in her decision. She keeps coming back to how quick he was to defend her sons, and suddenly, she's struck with the urge to follow up on his advice. Dean is watching her tensely, obviously unsure of which way she's going to go, and obviously worried for the man he considers to be his friend.

When did she end up on opposite sides of a war with her oldest son? Her precious little Dean, who used to demand bedtime stories, and who was afraid of the space under his bed? The cute little bruiser that probably ran into every piece of furniture she and John owned, twice over? Her sweet son who wanted the crust cut off his sandwiches and believed angels were watching over him? When did he stop trusting her, and when did she stop trusting him?

"Dean," She starts, and then loses what she was going to say. His attention is fully on her at the change in her tone, and the hope she can see creeping into his expression helps her solidify her decision. "… Okay. I trust you. I owe it to you to trust you. I'll... give him a chance. If you think I should."

The look of relief and gratitude on his face when she says that is worth it. "You should. You really should. Believe me, no one hated him more than Sam and I, but he's really done a one-eighty. I don't regret letting him stay here even a little bit. He's been pretty much a model guest. And he makes  _killer_  apple pie."

Mary can't help but smile at his last point. "He made you pie? Well, no wonder you like him so much. I guess that means the cook thing is true too?"

"Yeah, it's true. I still have a few slices left, if you wanna try it." He'd honestly rather not share... it's  _really_  good pie. But for his Mom, and for Lucifer's sake, he's willing to sacrifice a slice.

Mary knows the offer is mostly an attempt to be polite, but she's very curious. "… Maybe after dinner, sweetheart." Since she's resolved to  _not_ shoot the devil in the head, she might as well try what he's making for lunch. If it's great, then she'll probably be tempted to try the pie, too. She's still not sold on the 'Chef Satan' idea. "Just out of curiosity... why does he cook? Can all angels? Or just him?"

"Pretty sure it's just him," Dean responds with an easy smile. "He got hooked on Hell's kitchen. It's this cooking competition show on tv. He already wanted to learn, but about two weeks ago he decided to teach himself how to cook the more ambitious stuff he saw there and on Food Network. If you ask me, he's not bad."

"Wait,  _he_  likes a show called Hell's Kitchen? You're kidding me, right?"

Her son shakes his head, the smile not leaving his face. "Serious as a funeral, mom. It's my fault for showing it to him. I just thought it'd be funny, I didn't think he'd actually  _like_  it."

"Well hey, you got pie out of the deal, so obviously it wasn't a terrible decision."

"My thoughts exactly." Dean goes back to the grocery sack, leaving the stuff Lucifer will need for lunch on the counter, and shoving the rest wherever it will fit in the pantry. "So, can I go tell him that he doesn't have to worry about you putting a bullet in his head? Or would you rather wait until he has to start on lunch?"

She doesn't answer right away, tapping the side of her empty bottle of beer. "Let's go get him. We were having an interesting conversation before I got his name out of him."

"Really?" Dean is hesitant to show her the way to Lucifer's room, but he has a feeling that he won't be able to talk her out of this one. "About what?"

"No one thing in particular. I had a lot of questions about angels, there was a kind of philosophical discussion about change, among other things. He has a very fatalistic view on Destiny and the Universe and such. I guess that makes sense, now that I have more context."

"Fatalistic how?" Dean asks, curious. Obviously, Mary had met a side of Lucifer that Dean hasn't seen yet. The archangel always seems so flippant and unafraid; unaffected by his situation. He's the kind of guy Dean would expect to preach about making your own destiny. Fatalistic is the  _last_  word he'd use to describe the Lucifer he knows.

Mary raises her brow at him, sensing his surprise. "Maybe it's just me, or the conversation we were having. I  _have_  only known him for about half an hour. The reason I say that, is I asked him about what it's like to be human now, as a former Angel. Well... Archangel, I suppose. He just seemed very... resigned." She leaves the kitchen first, setting her empty beer aside on the counter. "He didn't seem to have a whole lot of hope for getting his wings back. And when we were talking about dealing with changes, like him being human and me being thrown 30 years into the future, he told me that the only thing to do is try to adapt. You either deal with it, or you get pulled under the tide. You just take what life gives you and try to make the best of it. And, I agree, but it just sounded kinda like he'd given up." When Dean doesn't respond immediately, looking pensive, she continues. "Maybe this is prying too much, but  _do_  you plan to get his grace back? Or if you found it unintentionally, would you give it to him?"

Dean's expression gets more pensive, but his response is quick. "I vote yes, but I think the general consensus right now is 'no'. Sam's still not sold on Lucifer being on our side, and I think Cass just thinks being Human is good for Lucifer. We decided that if we do end up giving it back to him, the decision has to be unanimous. But, that means we have to find it first, and all we know is that Rowena took it from him almost three months ago. We don't know if she's hidden it somewhere, or if it's been stolen from her, or  _what's_  happened to it. She's been off the grid ever since she started bragging about it, so we can only assume she's hiding somewhere trying to figure out how she can use it. God help us all if she ever does. Lucifer says it would take her a lifetime and then some to comprehend how it works beyond just using it like a battery, but she's immortal, as far as we know, and she cracked the book of the damned, so it's possible that she'll figure it out sooner. And if not, she's got the time to figure it out eventually, so we'll have to get it back from her sooner or later."

"And this Rowena; she's a witch? Lucifer told me a witch stole his grace."

"Yeah. And a nasty one at that. She's the King of Hell's Mom."

The blonde huntress hums in acknowledgement, not looking thrilled about the new knowledge. "And how did she manage to catch him so unawares that she was able to take it?"

"He... hasn't told us yet. Whenever it comes up he gets kinda touchy. He doesn't mind talking about  _being_  human, but  _becoming_  human is a sore point." He stops when they reach the library, closing the laptop he'd forgotten to turn off last night. "I think he's embarrassed about it. It was probably just a dumb mistake on his part, so I'd rather not get on his case about it... no one wants to be constantly reminded of how they screwed up."

Mary nods, knowing the truth of that statement better than most. It's part of the reason that she's been avoiding the Bunker so much lately. She loves her boys, and she's so proud of them... but every time she sees them, all grown up now, it reminds her that she wasn't there for them. She looks away, the smile fading from her face a bit. 

Lucifer was right. She can't hide from change, she'll have to face her mistakes and accept things the way they are at some point. And she should start by really trying to be a mother again.

Dean, always such a perceptive son, notices it right away, and stops on their path to Lucifer's room. "Is something wrong?"

His mother shakes her head, bringing her smile back, and going up to put a hand on her son's upper arm. "Not at all, sweetie." Seeing that he doesn't look like he quite believes her, she gets on her toes so she can give him a kiss on his cheek. She's got a pair of trees for sons. "I'm just very proud of you, Dean. You  _a_ _nd_  your brother. I haven't told you boys that enough."

Suffice to say, Dean's train of thought is thoroughly derailed. That's all he's ever wanted to hear his parents say. And for his Mom to say that to him, just out of the blue... Dean feels like he's walking on air. Maybe he was wrong to think his Mom was selfish, or didn't care about them... Whatever he thought of her before, right now she's just made him the happiest man in the world. "I..." He can't help the thoroughly relieved, warm grin that overtakes his features. "Thanks, mom. And I'm really glad you're here. Sam and I missed you. A lot."

"I'll try to be here more often then," the huntress promises, overwhelmed by the sudden warmth from her son. Lucifer really  _was_  right. Who knew a few words could make Dean so happy? She'll have to remember to thank him somehow, she thinks, letting go of her beaming son's arm. "C'mon, we better not leave your friend to stew on his own for too long."

Dean is a lot less reluctant to show the way to Lucifer's room after that, notably walking next to his mom now rather than a few steps ahead of her. It's not much farther, since the room Dean picked out for Lucifer is in the hallways just off of the Library. He knocks twice on the door. "Hey Luce, wanna come join us in the kitchen? Everything's cool with mom now." There's not an answer, even after waiting for a few moments, so he knocks again, thinking maybe Lucifer decided to take a nap. "Luce? Lucifer?"

After another few seconds pass with no answer, Dean just opens the door. Mary can see the worry on his face, concerned that there's something wrong with his friend, and a bit afraid that it's his fault.

The room is empty.

The worry doesn't leave Dean's face, as he walks inside and checks the closet to see if Lucifer's just hiding somewhere. "Damnit. Lucifer, this is not a good time for hide-and-seek," he mutters under his breath, the worry turning into frustration. He told Lucifer to wait in his room, and the former archangel had not only acknowledged him, but agreed to do so. So, where the hell did he run off to?

Mary is waiting just inside the doorframe, looking around the room curiously. There aren't many personal effects, but what she does see piques her curiosity. The bed is half-made, indicating that while he's at least attempting to be clean, he doesn't care all that much about it. There's the corner of a journal poking out from underneath the bed, which brings to mind an image of Lucifer writing diary entries, which is wholly amusing. There are a few well-worn shirts neatly folded on top of his dresser, collecting dust. There's a zip-up hoodie that looks too big for even Sam draped over the chair by the desk. And the last thing she notices is a steel chain with an old class ring looped through it left on the nightstand. "What's that?" She gestures to it, and Dean looks too, sighing when he sees it.

"It's a ring that a ghost is attached to. Specifically, a former prophet. He's Lucifer's friend, but he doesn't show up much anymore. He's mostly moved on now. Lucifer must've taken it off before we sparred this morning. Which means he probably never even stopped by his room." As he explains, he goes to pick it up, figuring he'll give it back to Lucifer when he finds him.

"A prophet and the Devil. That's an unlikely friendship if I've ever heard of one," she comments, stepping out of the room so Dean can walk past her. "Then again, I'm starting to notice that a lot of things about Lucifer surprise me. Where do you think he might've gone instead?"

"Good question," Dean responds in frustration, turning the ring over in his hands a few times. "He was kinda miffed about something I said when he left the garage. We know he's not in the library or the kitchen. I doubt he went to check the warding for the umptillionth time... Where would he go when he's ticked off?" As Dean asks the question out loud, the answer hits him, and he rolls his eyes. "I have an idea. C'mon, we're going downstairs."

 

* * *

 

Technically, Lucifer isn't supposed to be here unsupervised. But Dean's the only supervisor here, and he's usually more lax about where Lucifer is allowed to go. As long as he's not doing anything suspicious, it's usually okay. And Lucifer can hardly think of anything less suspicious than murdering a concrete target with plastic bullets.

The plastic bullets are exclusively for him. Dean wanted to teach him how to shoot a gun in case he ever needed to defend himself (or really, in case they ever found a way to get Crowley off his ass, because he thinks Lucifer would make a damn fine hunter, angel mojo or not). But Sam didn't want to hand Lucifer a loaded, lethal weapon. And he didn't want to waste their salt rounds on target practice. So, they compromised. Dean got Lucifer a low-grade handgun, and they got plastic bullets for it. They technically aren't  _non-lethal,_  but they're a hell of a lot less dangerous than real bullets are.

Not that Lucifer would try shooting them anyways; that's kind of against his own best interests.

No matter how much he wants to put a hole in their heads sometimes.

Dean and Cass convinced Sam it was a good idea by telling him that Lucifer should at least  _know_  how to shoot a gun, and he follows all their other rules to a T, so as long as he's supervised, it'll be  _fine_. But Lucifer's mostly grateful for the opportunity because it gives him a harmless outlet for the frustration that he builds up sometimes. It's really satisfying to be able to just unload a firearm into a concrete wall, especially now that he's gotten better at hitting the bullseye. He doesn't have a whole lot more to do with his time lately than cook and practice his aim. When he sees Rowena, he  _won't_  miss. And then, he'll burn her body to make sure she  _stays_  dead.

He unloads another magazine into the target, satisfied to see the grouping of bullets all within a few inches of the bullseye. All the while, thinking vindictively to himself.  _Stupid Phone. Bam. Sending the wrong fucking picture to Cass. Bam. Probably outing him to his little brother. Bam._ _S_ _tupid. Bam._ _Dean. Bam. Stupid Dean and his stupid face. Bam. His stupid face with those pretty eyes and those stupid lips. Bam. His stupid smile. Bam. Stupid. Bam. Stupid. Bam. Stupid. Bam_ _bam_ _bam_ _._ Even with hearing protection, the gun is loud enough to help drown out his thoughts.

It's a pretty nice distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, two updates in one month? It must be a Thanksgiving miracle!  
> I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter, cuz I sure had a good time writing it. :) <3
> 
> Happy Turkey week, Americans!  
> And happy what-the-fuck-are-those-crazy-fuckers-on-about week, everybody else!


	18. Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Now he's gone, I don't know why_   
>  _And 'till this day, sometimes I cry_   
>  _He didn't even say goodbye_   
>  _He didn't take the time to lie_
> 
> _Bang bang, he shot me down_   
>  _Bang bang, I hit the ground_   
>  _Bang bang, that awful sound_   
>  _Bang bang, my baby shot me down_
> 
> \- Nancy Sinatra  
> [Also covered live by Ruth Conell and Accompanied by Louden Swain]
> 
> \---
> 
> I am _so_ sorry for the long hiatus. I'm sure you guys know how crazy things get during the holidays, but yeesh, that was a pretty damn long wait between chapters. I'll do my best to make the wait for the next chapter not take nearly as long. We're getting to one of the parts of this story that I'm most excited for, guys! Plot things are gonna happen soon!!!

Dean was right about him being miffed, but he's not  _really_  miffed at Dean (anymore). He's more upset at himself for letting his guard down... and for letting Dean get close enough to hurt him. He knows... He  _knows_  that Dean just misspoke, and he believed it when Dean apologised... but that doesn't change that it  _really_  hurt to hear Dean call him a monster. Sam could call him that, Mary could call him that, maybe even Cass could call him that, and it wouldn't hurt him. He knows they all think very little of them. (Perhaps with the exception of Castiel. But Castiel would never call him a monster with any malicious intent. The angel is simply too careless and tactless with his speech. It'd be silly to be insulted by anything he says, in the same way that it'd be silly to be offended when a toddler asks a pregnant woman why she got so fat.)

But Dean? He let himself get close enough to actually care about what the hunter thinks of him. He let Dean in a bit, and then Dean's accidental sucker punch really knocked the wind out of him. He knows it was just a slip of the tongue... but when calling him a monster is so natural that Dean says it without thinking, it's obvious that Dean doesn't think as highly of him as he's come to believe.

He was naïve to hope that Dean was different.

But he can't take back the sentiment now. In the same way that Michael's words still hurt; he's always going to care what Dean thinks of him. He knows it would be easier, gentler on himself to try to stop caring... but if his relationship with God is any indication...  _not_  caring isn't exactly Lucifer's strong suit.

Lucifer releases the clip on his handgun, and reaches for another magazine, stopping when the slight turn of his head reveals Mary and Dean waiting by the door. He barely catches them out of the corner of his eyes, both covering their ears to protect against the noise. Instead of re-loading the gun, he sets it down next to his ammo, and pulls off his hearing protection. "That was sooner than I expected," he comments, sighing internally. What he wouldn't give to be able to shoot another magazine's worth. "For what it's worth, I was going to go wait in my room after like, five more minutes."

Dean's arms were crossed over his chest, but he didn't look angry. "I just wish you'd given me a heads-up before I found an empty room and started worrying about you." He tosses the necklace he got off of Lucifer's nightstand, and Lucifer catches it deftly.

"Sorry. I would've, but I kind of decided to head here  _after_  I left. I would've texted you, but I didn't think I'd be here long enough for it to matter. My bad." His explanation is short, and more than a little terse. So, maybe he's not as over Dean calling him a monster as he wants to be. Before Dean can comment on it, he makes an effort to change the subject. "You up for a little competition while we're here, Mary? I bet I'm a better shot than you."

The huntress glances at her son, who doesn't look like he approves of this at all. She should probably turn him down... but who is she to pass up a chance to kick Lucifer's ass at a shooting range? "You're on; but let's add some stakes to this bet."

"Alright." Lucifer smiles, glad that at least he can read Mary Winchester with some ease. He's not sure how Dean got her to come around, but as long as she's acting like she wasn't ready to blow his head off a little while ago, he's happy to pretend that never happened either. "Then... If I win, you help me with lunch."

Mary pulls her own pistol out, walking up to the range. She was impressed by the grouping she could see there, but she's confident that she can do better. "I'm going to take a round to warm up," she states first, and then tosses Dean hearing protection before getting her own. She catches Lucifer nod out of the corner of her eye, agreeing to let her do so; which is only fair since he's obviously just had plenty of time to warm up. "And if I win... you come help us with the thing I came here for."

Lucifer loses a bit of his confidence as he hears her side of the bet. "Now hold on, you're asking me to agree to something without knowing what I'm agreeing to."

"And you're asking me to agree to cook. You think I know the first thing about cooking?" Mary puts her earmuffs on all the way, and Lucifer hurries to do the same before Mary takes aim and fires six shots in quick succession; all within an inch or two of the bullseye, and three of which are touching it. When she's done, she takes the protection back off, and starts to head down the range to replace the target for their bet. "Anyways, you're so sure of yourself, what are you worried about? Just beat me, and you don't have anything to be afraid of."

Lucifer shoots a glance at Dean, who just shrugs as if to say 'this one's all on you, buddy'. Which is fair; since Lucifer is the one who proposed the bet in the first place. "What happens if there's a tie?" Dean asks after a second, knowing they're both very good shots, and it's an entirely possible outcome.

"Then we both win," Mary answers easily, "And we honour both bets."

"Let's set the rules now, too," Lucifer adds, taking the bet a little more seriously now that he actually wants to win. Mary nods for him to go on while she walks back and begins re-loading her pistol. "We each get one shot. Closest to the bullseye or inside it wins. If over half the bullet hole is covering the bullseye, it's considered inside. Deal?"

"Deal," Mary agrees, putting out her hand. "Shake on it."

Lucifer does so, and then steps back out of the way. "Ladies first."

Mary nods, pulling her hearing protection back on before taking aim. She takes a moment to line the shot up before pulling the trigger this time, unlike the quick shots she'd taken before.

Even from here, all three can see she hit the bullseye.

She spins her gun around one finger like in an old western film, and blows over the tip of it. As she steps away, she mouths 'good luck' to Lucifer.

The only way to beat her now would be to hit the target dead-center; and not even Lucifer has enough pride in himself to think he's capable of that by anything but sheer luck. He takes his time lining up his own shot, hoping to at least tie with her. He probably won't get out of whatever hunt she's about to drag him on, but at least he might get the chance to make her pay for it in the kitchen first. He inhales deeply and releases slowly before pulling the trigger.

… and also hits the bullseye. He pulls off his hearing protection, eyes still on the target with no small amount of pride. Maybe it's just a tie, but he's still proud of how much he's improved at this. However, maybe, in hindsight, it was a bad idea to challenge a Winchester to a shooting match at all.

Dean looks impressed too, giving Lucifer a smile before he pulls off his own hearing protection and makes his way to go get the target and verify that it's a tie. Despite himself, Lucifer can't help but preen at the look Dean gives him. So, maybe he wanted to show off to Dean a bit. Just a little bit.

He's still mad at him.

"Nice shot," Mary compliments him, tucking away her gun again. "Good to know I'll have one more person who knows how to handle a gun to back me up."

"Not bad yourself," he replies, trying not to let how much he's  _not_  looking forward to leaving the safety of the bunker show. "We'll see if you're as good with a stove as you are with a gun. So  _now_  will you clue me in on what you're dragging the four of us into?"

"Yeah, I'd like to know too." Dean walks back, holding the paper target up for them to see. "And, solid tie, you two. Not that you needed me to tell you that."

"You'll both find out," Mary answers patiently, "when Sam and Castiel are here too. There's no point in explaining it all twice. For now, all that really matters is that another hunter and I need your help on a bit of a complicated hunt. Lucifer, you might actually be a big help on this one."

"How so?" The Devil asks, starting to put his ammunition and his gun away where it belongs. He  _really_  hopes she doesn't say demons. That's the  _last_  thing he wants to mess with right now.

"This thing behaves... strangely. Maybe you'll know why, but like I said, I'll go more in depth about it later." Mary claps her hands, smiling at them both. "For now, let's head back upstairs. You should probably show me whatever it is I need to help you cook."

Lucifer nods, finishing up putting his things away before gesturing for her to lead the way. "I suppose it's probably too late to change my half of the bet, huh?"

"Depends, what would you rather have me do? 'Cause I'll tell you right now, I'm decidedly  _not_  a cook."

"And I'm decidedly  _not_  a hunter, but that's beside the point. How about..." He takes a second to consider what she might agree to instead, that he'd also consider a better consolation prize for the risk to his own safety. It doesn't take him too long to come up with a decent alternative. "Instead, you tell me the most embarrassing stories you've got about pint-sized Dean. I could use a good laugh."

"Hey! Wait--"

"You've got a deal, Lucifer."

Dean, for his part, looks absolutely mortified. " _Mom,_ _no_. Keep me out of this." He  _knew_  he should have kept them separated at all costs.

"Sorry, honey," She didn't really look sorry at all, "but it's my job to embarrass you to your friends."

Lucifer was grinning now, infinitely more pleased with this new trade-off. Dean noticed, and didn't hesitate to punch Lucifer in the shoulder. "You're a dick, you know that?"

The insult didn't make Lucifer's smile falter for even a second. "Takes one to know one, sweetheart. C'mon, let's go back upstairs, I need to get started on Lunch." As soon as Mary's back is turned, he mouths 'payback' to Dean, and the hunter rolls his eyes in response.

Yeah, maybe he had something coming, but,  _come on._  Dean's trying to win Lucifer back, the last thing he wants is for Lucifer to know about the time he tried to make spaghetti for dinner with twizzlers and melted m&ms (and glued-together beef jerky for meatballs).

It's gonna be a  _long_  time before Sam and Cass get back...

 

* * *

 

It was almost 1pm when Castiel pulled the old Ford into the bunker's 'garage'. 

[[That moment when you realise the past 8 chapters have only spanned like... half a day in-story... And over four months in real-time... Iknowi'msorryi'mslow]]

The ride from the barn to the bunker had been full of much livelier, much more comfortable conversation than the ride  _to_  said barn. And it had been agreed that neither man was going to say anything to either of their older brothers. Castiel wanted to talk to Lucifer about it, but Sam convinced him it was a bad idea, since Lucifer's ability to keep a secret is only as good as his ability to lie. Which is to say...  _not_.

Sam was very hungry by the time they arrived, so rather than head for a shower and a change of clothes, he went straight towards the amazing smell coming from the kitchen. Castiel followed just behind him, also enticed by the aroma, despite not needing food.

They caught laughter and friendly conversation as they approached the kitchen, and Sam smiles over his shoulder at the dark-haired angel. "Looks like somebody owes me ten bucks," he comments, announcing his arrival to the people in the kitchen.

Castiel looks confused, and then he remembers the bet they made before... the barn, and he rolls his eyes. "I'll give it to you later. Hello, Mary. It's nice to see you again," the angel greets with a nod of his head as he enters the room after Sam.

"Sam, Castiel," Mary greets them warmly, walking over to give Sam a hug. The hunter returns it readily, glad to find them all in good moods. "I was just telling Lucifer about the time Dean climbed a tree to get away from the neighbour's dog and had to wait for John to get home to help him down."

Sam grins at the idea of a four-year old Dean stuck up in a tree, and then lets go of Mary. "Why don't you start again from the beginning, I haven't heard that one." And then, casually, he glances back at Castiel, "twenty bucks. That's two outta three."

"That's not the bet we made," Castiel responds with a touch of grumpiness, which is quickly overtaken by confusion. "Mary, you called him Lucifer? You know?"

Sam realises too, and glances over at the quietly smiling blonde, not sure whether he should be worried or impressed.

Dean interrupts then, and both Sam and Cass notice that he's the only one in the room looking less-than jolly. "First of all,  _what_  bet, and second, yeah. I got here just in time to keep Mom from giving him another bullet wound for his collection."

"I had it under control," Lucifer protests without much conviction, just at the same time as Mary goes, "Collection?"

Lucifer answers her before Sam answers Dean, simply stretching the neck of his (Dean's) shirt enough to show the still-healing scar on his shoulder. "Courtesy of Sam," he tells her, and then looks expectantly at the two newcomers.

Castiel answers for Sam, prefacing it with a sigh. "I expressed worry that Lucifer wouldn't be able to keep Mary fooled before Dean got back to the bunker, and Sam bet me that Lucifer is a—in his words—'charismatic, sneaky bastard', and that he'd have Mary either laughing at his jokes, telling him stories about you two, or helping him cook lunch by the time we got back."

That explanation earned a snort from Lucifer as Mary responds. "Almost three for three; but I managed to wiggle out of the last one."

"You give yourself too little credit," Lucifer says with a smile sent her way, "you kept me entertained while I worked, so you ended up helping anyways." Once he sees her smile, he turns back to Sam, "You think I'm charismatic? I'm flattered."

Sam rolls his eyes, but his brother cuts in before he can give a sarcastic response. "Oh, so it's okay for  _Sam_  to call you names, but when I do by accident, you won't talk to me?" Normally Dean wouldn't confront anyone about this, especially not in front of other people... but he's just endured nearly an hour and a half of embarrassing childhood stories, and Lucifer basically  _told_  him it's because of that one, stupid mistake he made. And beyond just the stories, Lucifer has barely talked to him, unless it's to both himself and Mary. He just... it feels like he's being punished way too much for a little mistake he already apologised for. Maybe snapping at Lucifer isn't the right answer... but Dean was fed up with this an hour ago, and he feels like the longer he goes without saying something, the bigger this stupid rift between them is getting.

Dean's words wipe the smile from Lucifer's face, and he can't decide whether he wants to just admit Dean has a point and apologise, or snap right back because if Dean doesn't know  _why_  Sam's different, then... why bother trying to explain it to him?

Thankfully, Sam steps in for them, sensing that this isn't something they really want to be discussing around others. "Hey, guys... why don't we pick fights with each other after lunch; I'm starving."

Unfortunately, that didn't make Dean back down in the slightest. "Sam, no offense, but butt out." He doesn't even take his eyes off the former angel when he speaks to Sam. "I'm serious, Lucifer. I wanna know."

Yeah, Lucifer definitely thinks he went a bit too far. And, it's the strangest thing because... he feels bad, but at the same time he's getting just as pissed off as Dean is. He's half tempted to explain why they're different in front of the others, but refrains, shooting Dean a warning glare before turning back to Sam and Cass with a smile. "I just pulled it out of the oven five minutes ago, give it another ten to cool off and then lunch will be ready. Mary, why don't you tell them about that tree while I  _talk_  to your son."

And without waiting for any agreement from the others, Lucifer grabs Dean's arm and practically hauls him out of the room.

Sam and Cass share a look with each other, both thinking just about the same thing; Lucifer referring to Dean as 'your son' isn't a good sign. What the hell did Dean  _say_?

Lucifer drags Dean about halfway down the Hallway, waiting for Mary to start talking before he stops and turns to Dean. At first he just glares, looking like he's gonna yell at Dean or something, but he holds his tongue, and then the anger drains out of his expression. "Okay, maybe I haven't been exactly fair to you... I told you I forgave you, that should've been the end of it. I'm sorry."

Dean blinks, having not expected an apology, but finding that his own frustration disappears as soon as he hears it. "It's okay... I mean, I just don't understand why you're so upset about it, I guess. I mean, I  _do_  understand why it'd upset you, but Sam's said way worse, and Cass messes up all the time too, so why are you so upset when _I_  mess up?"

Right about then, Lucifer realises that Dean is really, truly,  _clueless_. Which, in a way, is a good thing. Lucifer doesn't exactly  _want_  Dean to know about his embarrassingly big crush on him... but at the same time, it'd be nice for Dean to figure it out so he doesn't have to keep suffering in silence, trying to pretend he doesn't wish he could sleep in Dean's room whenever he has a nightmare... or that he could make Dean pie every day just for the smile it puts on his face...

God, he's such a sap.

In any case, Dean's questions finally cause Lucifer to mentally relax, and accept that Dean really didn't mean to hurt him in any way. However, that does put him at a loss for how to explain himself. "I... Well, Sam is..." He struggles for a second, and then he figures out what he wants to say, "Sam's different. He doesn't want to be my friend. So, I expect insults from him. I just... I consider you a friend, so it hurt more when you accidentally called me a monster. I just... you said it without really thinking about it, so it made me wonder if you really considered me a friend too, or if you're just... being nice because that's how you are. I'm sorry, I was overthinking it. It's stupid. I overreacted."

Dean looks a bit taken aback, because  _how_  could Lucifer think he doesn't consider him a friend? He sorta follows Lucifer's thought process, but his brain is wired a completely different way, so it's not easy. After a second, he thinks two things; 'well, at least he doesn't know I'm crushing on him', and then, 'wow, he's  _never_  gonna figure it out unless I tell him outright.' And the latter ain't gonna happen until he knows Lucifer likes him back, which, if he's understanding Lucifer correctly... doesn't seem likely.

What he wouldn't do to be able to read minds right now.

"… It's not stupid," Dean starts, not quite sure where exactly he's going. His lips seem to know something he doesn't, however; "you've got a right to worry, with our... history, but of  _course_  I consider you a friend. Lucifer, at this point, you're practically family. Even Sam is starting to come around. And, I'm really sorry about what I said; I wasn't thinking, and I  _definitely_  didn't mean it. But, you know, this whole 'friendship' and 'family' thing is a two-way street. We're doing our best to forgive you for everything you've done to us, but we're only human, we make mistakes. So, I'm counting on you to forgive me and not subject me to torture with embarrassing stories for an hour and a half when I mess up too, alright?"

When he finishes, Lucifer's looking at his hands, wringing them guiltily and looking kinda like a chastised child. If Dean were in a better mood, he might've thought he looked kinda cute. "Yeah, I... get it. I really overreacted, I just..." He sounds like he's going to try to explain himself or give an excuse, but stops himself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... torture you. I didn't realise that was such a big deal to you. My intent wasn't to ridicule you, and if it makes it any better... to me, it sounds like you were a pretty adorable kid." He looks back up to Dean then, a half-smile of relief making its way onto his face when he sees that Dean no longer looks upset. "I certainly don't think any less of you for what you did when you were four. I did more ill-advised things when I was four- _hundred_. Though, I am glad that you leave the cooking to me, now."

Dean kinda wants to stay mad, but the last couple things Lucifer said causes a smile to break out on his face in spite of himself, and he gives a soft huff of annoyance. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't tell Sam or Cass any of it, and you're golden. I have an image I'd like to maintain, thank you."

"Sir, yes sir," Lucifer says, and somehow doesn't even sound the least bit patronising.

With the mutual forgiveness now given, Lucifer begins to walk away with that gap-toothed smile of his. (He used to be self-conscious about the missing teeth, but after Sam's mishap, no one has bugged him about it, and the odd smile has become pretty damn endearing, actually.) Dean can't help but hum an off-handed comment to himself as he follows; "Now, four-hundred-year-old-Lucifer,  _that's_  something I'd like to hear about."

The former angel shoots a look back at him, looking smug, "Good luck finding anyone who remembers that far back, Dean."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find someone," Dean teases back, not being too serious as he continues. "I bet Michael would spill  _all_  the juicy details if we promised to let him out. Or maybe Chuck would be interested in telling us a story or two if he ever decides to come back from his vacation."

Dean barely catches the eye-roll as Lucifer faces forward again. "Yeah,  _if_. Like I said, good luck." He doesn't bother addressing Michael as a possibility, knowing they're more likely to give him back his grace right now and set him loose on the world than they are to go anywhere near the cage again.

There's more than a little bitterness in the angel's tone, Dean notices, and he almost feels bad for bringing up Lucifer's father, but they can't tiptoe around him forever, and Lucifer told him he stopped caring so much about it long before he ever got here. (Dean suspects that's a lie, but he's not going to try playing Dr Phil again anytime soon.) That bridge burned a long time ago, and Lucifer said it just took him too long to realise it.

The bitterness fades quickly, and Lucifer greets Mary, Cass, and Sam with a toothy grin as he returns with Dean close behind. "Who's ready for lunch?"

Mary and Sam both give their wholehearted assent, and Dean practically shouts a "Hell yeah" as he heads for the cabinet to pull out bowls.

Castiel just smiles mildly at the gathered humans, sharing their enthusiasm in his own, much quieter way. He's glad to see both Lucifer and Dean's moods have improved, that's for sure.

The still steaming-hot food is dished out quickly, and soon the four humans and angel were seated around the small kitchen table, blowing on their first forkfuls of food so they could begin eating. No one in particular was leading a conversation between them, so when Mary cleared her throat to get their attention everyone gave it to her.

She gave Sam and Dean a particularly warm smile before her expression faded to something more serious. "I know Dean and Lucifer have been dying to know what I came to ask for you boys' help with, and now that you're all here I might as well tell you. I made a friend on the road, a newer hunter named Wally. He thinks he's come across a demon, but it's weird, and he's never fought one before, so he asked for my help. I haven't... exactly, fought many either, so I was hoping you boys would be willing to lend me a hand with it. For all we know it could be a nest, and I'd rather not walk in without a more experienced eye."

Lucifer groaned, dropping his fork back into his bowl and giving Dean a somewhat pathetic look. "Just kill me now."

Sam rolls his eyes, swallowing his bite of macaroni. "What are you whining about? You can just stay here."

"Not this time," Dean tells his brother, "Mr Self-Confident here made a bet with mom, so now he has to come with us and help." He turns to Mary, looking a little bit concerned. "I certainly don't mind going after a demon or two, but that's really not safe for Lucifer. If any of them manages to contact Crowley, he's toast. You sure you can't let him off the hook for this one?"

Mary shakes her head, elaborating only after a second of contemplation. "Even if he doesn't go out there and help us gank a demon, if  _Lucifer_  is available, I'd like his help. Maybe he'll know something about this one that might save our necks, who knows?"

Lucifer doesn't look convinced, but then again, he doesn't really need to. Castiel gives him a sympathetic pat on the back. "Maybe the fresh air will do you some good, brother."

"One can hope," Lucifer grumbles, going back to his food, not quite as hungry as he was before.

He has a really bad feeling about this...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm sorry for the long wait! Expect the next chapter much sooner!
> 
> Comments make me work faster ;P


	19. Stuck in the Middle (With You) - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: SPOILERS**  
>  If you have not yet seen Episode 12x12, these next few chapters will contain many spoilers for it. You've been warned.
> 
> \- - - - -
> 
>  _Well I don't know why I came here tonight,_  
>  _I got the feeling that something ain't right,_  
>  _I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair,_  
>  _And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs,_  
>  _Clowns to the left of me,_  
>  _Jokers to the right, here I am,_  
>  _Stuck in the middle with you_  
>  \- Stealers Wheel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for my actually correct use of punctuation and grammar _for once_ goes to **Filat** , my Beta/Editor/very own Gordon Ramsey of writing. He rocks, guys, and he's also a mean, mean friend who forced me to get off my ass ~~stop procrastinating~~ , stop writing other fics ~~coughprocrastinatingcough~~ , and get this chapter done by withholding pictures of dogs ~~a surprisingly effective motivator~~. For the record, they were adorable. 9001 out of 10. A++ Doggos.

For Lucifer, cars had always seemed terribly slow, even when he was the one driving. This time, however, it felt like the drive went by far too fast, and now everyone is climbing out of the impala to greet Mary and her hunter-friend. (Mary had left before the others since she was packed and ready to go as soon as she woke up, unlike the boys—Lucifer in particular—who hadn't been expecting a long trip anytime soon.)

He stays put for a moment, not wanting to leave the safety of the vehicle just yet. Dean notices and walks around to open his door for him. "Hey, relax," the hunter tells him, "there's four hunters and an angel here, and you've got plenty of warding to hide you. It'll be fine." The sentiment is nice but his words fall on deaf ears.

Lucifer knows he's right- he inked himself up so well that a lesser demon might look straight at him and not even see he's there- but it hasn't yet been put to the test, and he doesn't know if it will be enough to keep a Hellhound from sniffing him out. "Can't I just wait here? I'm not hungry," he lies and is immediately given away by his rumbling stomach.

Dean gives him an unconvinced look and offers him a hand. "Look, you've got two options. Walk into the diner with me, or I'll drag you in. Your choice."

The former angel grumbles mutinously but takes Dean's hand and pulls himself out of the car.

" _There_  ya go," Dean teases him lightly, pulling Lucifer to his feet and leading him to join the rest.

Lucifer rolls his eyes at the hunter and unfolds the pair of holy-oil scorched glasses he had hanging off the front of his shirt, putting them on before following Dean.

Mary smiles when she sees Lucifer and her son heading their way. "Hey boys, nice of you to join us. Sam, Dean, this is Wally. Wally, these are my sons, and their friend Lou," she adds as the blonde catches up to the group.

Dean offers his hand to Wally genially. "Glad to meet ya. She's said a lot of good things."

The relatively inexperienced hunter shook Dean's hand, and then Lucifer's, giving them both warm smiles. "Yeah, right back at you, man. Your uh, your mom's real proud of you boys." He looks at Mary as he says that and then turns back to them, focusing on the third member of the group. "The Winchesters here are legends, of course, but are you new to hunting too, Lou?"

"Cass," Dean acknowledges the second angel as he joins them, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Thanks again for coming, I know you're busy." Mary gives them a grateful nod. 

Once they have all given their various forms of assent and 'it's no bother'-s to her, Lucifer returns Wally's smile with a slightly more nervous one. He's just glad Mary decided not to introduce him by his full name. "Yeah, pretty new." He pauses and then decides that if he's pretending to be a fresh hunter, a little nervous rambling wouldn't be out of place. "It's my first hunt, actually. I'm really more of a behind-the-scenes guy. Lore, tricks, you know." Since losing his grace, at least. As an archangel and soldier of Heaven, he never shied away from the front lines. Back then he just did the behind-the-scenes planning with Michael  _in addition_  to the dirty work.

Wally seems glad to know he's not the newest hunter here, at least. He gives an impressed whistle. "And you agreed to take on a demon? You must be either batshit crazy, or  _really_  confident."

"For Lou? It's a little bit of both," Mary answers for him, earning a laugh from Lucifer before he answers.

"More like I made a bet with the wrong Winchester," he corrects, shooting Mary a nervous smile. 

That gets a laugh out of Wally. "Good old Mary. Well, the more the merrier, I guess. Can you shoot a gun?"

"I can," Lucifer replies. "That's how I got myself in this mess, actually."

Mary nods and adds her own two cents, "He's a damn good shot, too. Don't be modest, Lou."

Lucifer rolls his eyes at her. "I'm good at hitting targets. That don't  _move_. And don't have demonic powers, either."

"I'm sure you'll be just fine, Lou. You're in real good company." Wally reassures him, giving him a pat on the back. Somehow, when he says it, it actually comforts Lucifer a bit.

The blonde releases a breath, smiling a little more. "That I am. I hope you're right, Wally."

Dean nods at the statement. "All right, ramblers, let's get ramblin'."

As the group files into the diner to grab lunch/dinner and discuss the situation at hand, Castiel falls into step with his brother and puts a hand on his shoulder. When he speaks it's in a voice that's little over a murmur and in their shared language.  "I can sense your concern. You're going to be fine, brother. We won't let anything happen to you."

"I wish I had your confidence," Lucifer responds to his brother with a soft smile. "I suppose we'll see how everything turns out. It's only one demon, after all."

He didn't have the foresight to knock on wood.

 

* * *

 

They had to pull two chairs over from other tables, and they ended up being a bit squished together, but everyone fit.

Dean hadn't noticed Lucifer had put his glasses on before now, and he snorts once he catches a glance as Lucifer sits between him and Wally. "Dude, you look like a dork with those glasses on."

Lucifer simply rolls his eyes at Dean and pushes the glasses back up his nose. "Perhaps, but at least I can  _see_."

The waitress had approached their table and had gotten Wally and Sam's drink orders, and she had heard the friendly teasing. She must have misinterpreted, however, because she shoots Dean a nasty look before she turns to Lucifer. "I think the glasses are cute, sir. What would you like to drink?"

Lucifer gives Dean an obnoxiously smug grin at the waitresses' comment. "Just water for me, thank you. And a coffee, lots of sugar."

Wally interrupts with a noise of agreement. "Yeah, change mine to a coffee, actually."

"Got it," she says, noting it down on her order pad. "Coffee and a water for you, too?" She asks Dean pleasantly but with less of a smile than she gave the others.

"No thanks, sweetheart." He gives her his most charming smile, trying to win her over since she obviously misinterpreted his attitude towards Lucifer. It was just a harmless tease- they're friends, friends do that. "Yes to the coffee—black—but I'll also take a mug of whatever you've got on tap."

"Coffee and tap water, gotcha," she replies with a perky tone and turns to go before he can correct her.

Lucifer can't help the little snort he releases at that interaction- the glare he receives from Dean is totally worth it. "What?" He asks with a laugh, and Dean's glare just deepens.

When she's gone, he punches Lucifer lightly on the arm. Lucifer just rubs it as he laughs harder. "You're such a dick. Now there's no way I've got a shot with her," Dean tells Lucifer morosely.

The blonde doesn't look apologetic in the slightest as he responds, "You didn't have a chance anyways, Dean. Did you see how she was eyeing Cass? Ten bucks says she gives him her number."

"You don't  _have_  ten bucks," Dean reminds him with a snort.

Rolling his eyes, Lucifer turns to Mary. "Can I borrow ten dollars?"

"You're asking  _our mom_  for money?" Sam shakes his head at the blonde. " _Dude_."

Mary just shakes her head, laughing at the ridiculousness of it.

Lucifer turns to Castiel, who also shakes his head with a smile. "I will not support you developing a gambling addiction, Lou."

"Brother, you wound me," Lucifer starts dramatically, putting a hand over his heart. "And wasn't it you who just lost a bet with Sam?"

The younger angel leans back, rolling his eyes. "And isn't losing a bet what got you here with us? Perhaps we both need to stop, brother."

"Don't worry about it," Dean tells Lucifer, laughing and giving him a pat on the back. "I don't wanna take you up on that bet anyways, I'll need to pay better attention to her when she gets back, first. I actually thought she might be into  _you_."

"Nah," Lucifer brushes him off with an easy smile, glancing to the kitchen where she's still filling up their drinks. "I'm too old. I'm just the 'cute old man'."

"You're not  _that_  old."

Lucifer gives Dean a meaningful look. "My—I'm at  _least_  ten years older than you. Born in '65." He almost slipped up and said 'my vessel', but thankfully, since Wally is on his other side, he caught himself.

"You don't look it," Dean counters.

"Or  _act_  it," Sam and Cass add at the same time, and then high-five.

Lucifer doesn't argue with that, just turns to give Wally a look like 'can you  _believe_  them?' before giving Mary his attention as she speaks up.

"And I have ten years on that, technically. '54, Lou. I'm in my sixties."

"And you don't look a day over 25," the blond responds smoothly.

Dean pulls a face, whacking Lucifer's arm again. "Dude, don't flirt with my mom, it's just weird."

"I'm not  _flirting_ ," Lucifer rolls his eyes, leaning back. "I'm kissing up, there's a difference."

Wally snorts, covering his mouth with his hand, and Mary rolls her eyes at the three of them. "Considering I died at almost thirty, that doesn't mean a whole lot. Funny how that works. Nice try though, Lou."

The devil snaps his fingers, mock-devastated. "And I would've gotten away with it too, if it weren't for your meddling kid," he says jokingly, smiling at the waitress as she returns with their drinks.

She passes Wally and Cass their drinks first and then takes Wally and Sam's orders since they were already prepared with them, unlike Mary, Lucifer, Castiel, and Dean, who hadn't even opened their menus yet. Then she turns to hand Lucifer his drinks, since he's closest.

"Thank you, Mandy," Lucifer says, taking it. "But my friend here meant to ask for a beer, if you don't mind going back; we've got a long day ahead of us. He'll take the water too, though."

She gives him a glowing smile as she hands out the rest of the drinks to their intended recipients. "Sure thing, sir. Do you know what you'd like to order?"

"I'll just have whatever he gets." Lucifer hooks a thumb in Dean's direction and then stacks his unopened menu on top of Sam's and Wally's.

Mandy nods and then turns to Dean expectantly. "What'll it be?"

The hunter looks over his menu with a look of concentration on his face, trying to read through all the options quickly since Lucifer distracted him from looking earlier and then handed the decision to him, the bastard. Mandy isn't being so hostile towards him anymore, at least.

"Mandy," he says, briefly glancing at her nametag. "That short for Amanda?"

He can almost hear the eyeroll in her tone. "… duh."

"Yeah, I'll—" he fumbles a bit, glancing back down at the menu before giving up on ordering something new. "I'll go with the cheeseburger."

Sam lowers his tablet, looking up at the waitress as she writes down Dean's order. "Hey, what's the uh, the Wi-Fi password here?"

"extracheese."

"No," Dean immediately interrupts, thinking Mandy is picking on him again. "No. Just, uh, as it is, is fine."

She spares him a withering look as she clarifies, " _That's_  the password: extracheese," and yeah, he is  _so_  not winning any points with her. He's striking out  _everywhere_  lately.

Thankfully Wally interrupts before Dean can dig a deeper hole for himself. "You know what? That sounds good. I'm gonna change mine to a cheeseburger as well." He folds his menu up and sets it with the other ones. "Extra Cheese. I wanna carbo-load."

At least four voices immediately correct him- "That's not a carbohydrate" overlapping with "Cheese isn't a carb" and other variations of the same sentiment.

"Mm, well..." The less-experienced hunter mumbles in embarrassment, leaning back in his chair and grabbing his coffee to occupy his mouth with.

Mary saves the day, setting her menu down. "Steak and eggs, bloody."

Mandy turns her attention away from openly eyeing Castiel and writes down Mary's order before lowering the pad and gesturing to Cass with her pen. "And how 'bout you, handsome?"

She doesn't notice the death stare Sam briefly gives her before forcing himself to look down at his iPad, and Castiel glances at Sam for help before turning his gaze down to his menu, obviously flustered. "Um, uh..." Lucifer almost snorts as his brother seriously just puts his finger randomly on the menu and reads what it landed on. "Uh, the Sunrise Special please." He straightens back up, closing his menu and keeping his expression carefully neutral.

"Nice." She smiles widely at him before she turns to leave their table to get drink orders from another family.

Lucifer nudges Dean, "see?"

"Oh dude," Dean agrees, leaning in. "She is  _into_  you."

"Mm-hmm," Wally nods, setting his coffee down and looking between Dean and Castiel.

Sam lowers his tablet again, frowning at his brother. "Dean..." He starts warningly and then glances at Castiel, who looks generally uncomfortable about the situation.

The older hunter ignores him, eyes on Cass while Lucifer and Wally look on with twin expressions of amusement. "No, this is good. We've been looking for teachable moments. This..." He chuckles and clicks his tongue teasingly, making the universal signal for 'perfect' with his fingers before looking behind him to check if Mandy is within earshot or not.

Castiel continues to look nervous and glances at Sam again while Dean isn't looking, which Lucifer picks up on. He frowns, filing it away to ask Cass about later before joining Dean in looking around for Mandy. She's taking the order of one of the tables behind them but looks like she's about done- just finishing up noting their drink orders down.

Mary's phone beeps, and she loses her attention to the conversation as she checks her texts. Sam jumps on the opportunity to change the subject. "Everything alright, Mom?"

"Yeah, just a hunter, needs some help."

That pulls Dean's attention away from the waitress, and he gives his mother a slightly incredulous look. "Another one?"

"Can't have too many friends in this line of work." Wally gives her a sideways glance at that statement, and Lucifer's gonna have to ask him about that later, too. "Okay—" 

"The Internet here sucks." Sam cuts her off, changing the subject again. "I downloaded all the bunker's files to a new archive, but, we're not getting any signal, so I'm j—"

Dean interrupts him with a feigned snore and brings the subject back to exactly what Sam was trying to pull it away from. "Nobody cares. Cass." He leans in again, gesturing at his angelic friend. "Here's the thing you need to know about waitresses, okay? They get hit on all day long, so you gotta bring your A-game."

"I don't—" 

Dean rolls right over Castiel's quiet protest. "But, upside-" he winks at his friend before ploughing forward, "they always smell like food."

"They  _always_  smell like food," Wally agrees, and Lucifer looks between the two of them, baffled.

"Food?"

"Okay—okay—"

"Why is the upside that they always smell like food?"

Lucifer fights the temptation to self-consciously smell his shirt.

"Right? It's great—"

" _Why_  would you want them to smell like food?"

Mary puts her phone away, slapping her hand down on the table. "Hey!"

Everyone quiets down pretty quickly at the authority in her tone, dropping their various arguments and giving her their full attention. "Screens down, eyes up,  _shut_  up."

There's a chorus of apologies and then she continues. "Okay, here's what we know." Lucifer and the others lean in, eager to finally hear more about their target. "Our target keeps a tight schedule. He leaves every day at eight p.m. He gets back at exactly 8:45."

"What's he doing?" Dean and Lucifer ask simultaneously, and glance at one another before turning their attention back to her.

Wally is the one who answers, though. "Night fishing."

"Wait a minute." Castiel frowns, looking between him and Mary. "You called us to— to kill a demon that likes to  _fish_?"

"Yes, I did." Wally throws his hands up, looking around at the others, "Look, guys, this is all new to me. All right, you got a rugaru problem? Hey," he snaps his fingers, "I'm your guy. But Demons?" He laughs nervously, looking to Lucifer for help as a fellow somewhat fresh hunter. "Hell. Look, I was just passing through and I heard about some cattle mutilations."

"Classic demon sign," Sam says calmly, taking his inexperience seriously. He taps Castiel's hand under the table and the angel settles back, realising he was perhaps a bit too harsh on the new guy.

Lucifer nods encouragingly but frowns at the information. Cattle mutilations are usually a sign of more than  _one_  demon. Something about 'night fishing' makes him uneasy too, but he can't quite put his finger on why.

"I started to dig," he continues. "A lot of virgins go missing around here, too."

"Classic  _horny_  demon sign," Dean jokes, but Lucifer's frown just deepens further, again concerned that this seems like evidence of more than one demon. However, he doesn't hunt their kind as much as the Winchesters do, so he doesn't argue.

Anyway, before he can ask a question, Mary takes over again, and with her tone, he wouldn't dare interrupt her. "Which is why Wally called us, asking for help. So, are we all clear on the plan?"

They  _had_  at least discussed that much before parting ways at the bunker, so Lucifer nods with the rest, looking nervous right alongside Wally.

"Incoming," Sam warns, and they all relax again as the waitress returns to refill their coffee mugs.

Against his better judgement and with Sam's eyes on him, Castiel leans towards her for a second and sniffs to see if she  _really does_  smell like food. She doesn't seem to notice, at least.

Dean doesn't miss a beat, addressing her with casual charm. "Hey Mandy, question for you." She ignores him, and he coughs a bit pointedly in Cass' direction before continuing. "My shy, but devastatingly handsome friend here was uh, just wondering," and now she seems interested, "when do you get off?"

She glances between Lucifer and Castiel before deciding that he's referring to the latter. When she comes to that realisation, she smiles at Cass in an overtly sexual manner as she leans down to pour more coffee into his mug. "Whenever I can."

"Hey-o!"

" _Zing_."

"Wow," Lucifer adds to Dean and Wally's loud outbursts of surprise and amusement.

"Point one for her." Dean holds up a finger, and then returns his attention to his coffee. "Just dropped  _that_  on the table."

Castiel closes his eyes, and Lucifer snorts at the long-suffering sigh his younger brother releases. Sam is just shaking his head, eyeing Dean with open disapproval.

Wally puts a hand on Lucifer's shoulder, stifling a laugh as he responds to Dean. "Right in front of all of us, too."

"Ooh-hoo!"

Sam rolls his eyes, realising he can't do anything about the three of them right now, and just tries to steer the conversation back to something serious. "Wow." at least Castiel doesn't seem to actually be interested. "All right, Internet's up. We're in business."

Wally sobers up, seeming eager to please the other Winchester too. "I'm so nervous I don't even know if I can eat."

"Everything is going to be okay," Mary assures him, reaching forward to but her hand over his.

The pit in Lucifer's stomach tells him otherwise and he taps nervously on the wood table, wishing he had her confidence.

 

* * *

 

 

"Can we go over the plan one more time?" Wally asks, helping Sam and Dean pull gear out of the back of the Impala. 

"Yeah, seconded," Lucifer adds, loading up his gun with Devil's-trap bullets.

Dean nods, listing things off on his fingers as he goes. "8:45, demon comes home. Sam and I will be waiting for him." He gestures to Lucifer as he continues, "Lou and I'll pop him with a Devil's trap bullet or two."

"And I'll finish him off with the demon blade," Sam finishes, pulling said blade out and closing the back of the impala. "That's everything."

Castiel drops his angel blade into his hand and then tosses a second one to Mary. "And I will wait at the back with you in case he comes in that way."

"Cool, cool," Wally says, eyeing the various blades and guns around him the likes of which he's never seen before, wondering if they are some of 'toys' the Brits and Mary mentioned. "What do I do?"

Dean pats him on the back as he starts to head for the house, gesturing for Lucifer and Sam to follow. "Keep a lookout. Don't die."

"Like I said," Mary repeats reassuringly, "Everything is gonna be fine."

She heads off around back with Castiel, leaving Wally alone with the cars.

 

* * *

 

They arrived at the house early to set up but spray-painting a few traps doesn't take a whole lot of time. Dean is re-loading and re-counting the bullets in his gun for about the fifteenth time, Sam is wandering around looking for more strategic positions even though Lucifer told him at least five times that the spots they picked were  _fine_ _,_  and Lucifer has gotten bored of watching them and is now poking around, curious about the house this demon has put together for himself.

The place  _reeks_  of sulphur, so there is no doubt in Lucifer's mind that a demon lives here, but other than that, there's not really any kind of indication that this place is particularly  _demonic_. No body-storage, no blood in the fridge- in fact, it's practically empty except for a rotting casserole- and the wall art is kinda tame.

He wanders around a bit, stopping in front of a painting that catches his eye when the back door opens, making him jump.

"… Mary?" Cass' voice drifts towards him and Lucifer relaxes, waiting for his brother to come into view.

"Jesus, Cass," Lucifer says with a hushed tone, "wear a bell or something."

The younger angel rolls his eyes and looks down the hallway before entering the room Lucifer is in. "Don't use the Lord's name in vain. Have you seen Mary? She wasn't out back."

Lucifer shrugs and shakes his head. "Nope. Hey, get a load of this." He points at the picture he was looking at: an oil painting of Michael vanquishing the Devil, stepping on him and skewering him with his Lance. "Not a fan of me, this one."

Castiel takes a closer look at the picture, recognising the copy of the popular old renaissance painting. "I suppose that rules out the 'stand still and die because daddy says so' idea."

They had just joked about that 'plan B' in the car, and Lucifer snorts at the reminder. "Figures, we  _would_ attack the one demon who doesn't worship the ground I walk on."

They share a quick smile with each other before Mary interrupts their camaraderie by walking into the room through one of the formerly closed doors. Castiel loses his amicable attitude, giving her a serious look. "Where were you?"

She closes the door slowly behind her, looking guiltily between the two fallen angels. "Bathroom... I get nervous sometimes."

Lucifer nods in understanding while Castiel responds. "Urination. I understand."

"Geez, Cass." Lucifer snorts and then mimics his deep 'batman' voice. "Urination." He stifles another laugh as he turns to head back to the foyer, checking the time on his phone. "Do you even hear yourself sometimes?"

He's halfway down the hall before Mary's phone rings and she picks it up, watching his back while answering the phone. "Wally?"

"Heads up, Mary," the obviously spooked hunter greets her over the phone. "He's coming back early."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Fair warning, the next couple chapters won't be quite as nice, so be sure to bring your tissues. Comments are the secret ingredient for a writer's motivation!
> 
> Also, no big deal or anything, but I'm an Admin for a [Discord Chat called "Archangel Network"](https://discord.gg/xPr7geh) now, and it's a real fun place to talk and share ideas and stuff. Y'all are all welcome to click that link and hop in! I'm Scoob.


	20. Stuck in the Middle (With You) - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Well I don't know why I came here tonight,_  
>  _I got the feeling that something ain't right,_  
>  _I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair,_  
>  _And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs,_  
>  _Clowns to the left of me,_  
>  _Jokers to the right, here I am,_  
>  _Stuck in the middle with you._  
>  \- Stealers Wheel, Stuck in the Middle With You

"I hate everything about this," Lucifer hisses softly to Dean. He's so nervous that he's surprised his hands haven't started shaking yet. "Everything."

"That makes two of us," Dean replies lightly, starting to pick up the whistling from outside. "This is officially creepy. I knew something smelled... fishy." He gives the fishing rods in the corner a jovial nod.

"I hate you."

"Guys, shut up!" Sam whisper-yells to them, crouching by the front door with the demon knife. "Positions."

Neither of them argues with Sam—they know that he's right; it's time to buckle down and get serious. Dean stands far from the door, his gun up and at the ready to shoot the demon the moment he walks inside. Lucifer makes his way across the room from Dean, also with a good view of the door, and far enough from Dean to split the demon's attention in case they both somehow miss.

Mary and Castiel are in the next room, Cass wielding his angel blade and Mary brandishing her Enochian-etched brass knuckles—she decided that the blade wasn't up her alley.

Lucifer tilts his head to hear the whistling better, determining that the eerily creepy song the demon chose is ‘La donna é mobile’, a song he remembers to be a favourite of someone he knows… 

 _(The hiss of magic breaking the silence of his cage; a flash of smiling eyes; a deep, smooth southern voice…_ why can’t he remember who it was? This has happened to him more often than he’d like to admit since he lost his grace. He keeps  _blanking_  on things he used to remember perfectly.)

It’s a thought that barely crosses his mind, seeing as he has far more important things to worry about than who exactly introduced this song to him. It does up the creepiness factor quite a bit, though.

Lucifer glances around at the others while they wait for the demon to enter. Sam is trying to peek out the window without being seen; Dean has his eyes trained on the door, holding his aim steadily, ready to pull the trigger; Lucifer can’t see Castiel or Mary- they’re around the corner in the next room, close enough to the doorway to engage if things go south fast.

Footsteps can be heard now as the demon reaches the wooden porch, so Lucifer brings his attention back to the door, taking aim again. He’s gonna nail this demon right between the eyes, Sam will gank it, and then they can all head home.

The door swings open and two shots ring out, one from Dean’s gun and the other from Lucifer’s. Two holes appear in the demon’s clothes, but he seems otherwise unfazed. And suddenly, as he sees the demon’s face through his true sight glasses, Lucifer remembers whose favourite song that is.

His first instinct is to turn and run, but somewhere along the last two-three weeks he must’ve developed a sense of loyalty because he  _can’t_  leave Sam and Dean behind with Ramiel. He tells himself the reason he stays put and keeps his gun trained on the Prince is just because he’s bound to them. If they die, he dies anyways, so he might as well go out swinging.

Ramiel doesn’t seem to notice him yet, focusing more on Dean. He sets one of his bags on the hook by the door and starts to do the same with his other one. 

“You mind explainin’ why you broke into my  _house_?” The Prince of Hell says calmly, seeming unconcerned by the two guns pointed in his direction. Dean shoots him again and he continues to put his bag up, still unfazed. “I know it wasn’t just to ruin the evening catch.”

Lucifer shoots him again this time, getting him in the neck, which only seems to irritate him more while the wound seals up of its own accord. He shoots Lucifer a passing glare and Lucifer realises that for the moment he must not recognise him.

With a sigh, Ramiel kicks his rug to reveal the demon trap they spray-painted on the floor earlier. “Hunters.” He seems amused by that, and starts walking towards Dean, who begins to empty his clip into the Demon’s chest.

Lucifer does the same, only stopping when Sam gets in the way, darting forward to shove the demon blade into Ramiel’s side. Even before Ramiel shoves Sam back into the wall and pulls the blade out, Lucifer knows it won’t do a damn thing to him.

Ramiel voices his thoughts a second later, brandishing the blade tauntingly. “Well,  _that_  didn’t work.”

Castiel and Mary reveal themselves then, Mary raising her fists and Castiel tightening his grip on his blade. Ramiel drops the useless weapon in his hand and focuses in on Castiel, growling low in his throat. “Angel…”

Dean tries to get in his way and gets a sucker punch to his nose for his efforts. Lucifer follows Ramiel into the next room, dropping his gun and pulling out a knife so he can try a binding that’s a bit more powerful than a devil’s trap. If Castiel can just buy him a little time…

Ramiel charges at Castiel and runs him all the way into the counter at the other end of the room, both yelling incoherently as they struggle to get the upper hand. Castiel gets the back of his head knocked against a cabinet and that's it for him, he collapses to the ground in a heap. Mary still has her fists up, ready to fight. Ramiel notices, and satisfied that Castiel is down for now, he turns to face her. 

Sam and Dean recover and start to run into the room, but Ramiel cuts them off by mojo-ing the doors closed. He doesn’t seem to notice that Lucifer had already run into the room. Lucifer starts to count his blessings until he realises it’s probably the work of all his ink before the hunt. It’s more effective than he thought if it’s this hard for Ramiel to see him.

The Prince shows off his true eyes then, and if Lucifer had any doubts that they’re facing a prince of Hell, they’re gone now. Mary seems to be frozen in place, but when he smiles at her she lashes out, landing a punch on the side of his face.

He barely reacts, spitting to the side before he turns his glare back on her. “Hiya, sweetheart…”

“Hold on, Mary…” Lucifer whispers to himself as he begins to draw on the wall in his blood.

Ramiel’s eyes snap to his direction, glaring not-quite at him. “Who said that?” He growls, seeing the blood on the wall.

He doesn’t get a chance to find Lucifer because right then, Castiel gets back up and tackles him from behind, knocking them both to the floor. “Run!” He shouts to them both and Mary doesn’t need to be told twice.

Lucifer rushes to finish his binding sigil while Ramiel and Castiel struggle with one another. They manage to break the room’s only table before Ramiel gets ahold of the Angel and throws him bodily out the window.

And when that’s over, Ramiel rounds on Lucifer, still not quite looking  _at_  him, but obviously knowing where to look for him. “I can smell you now,” he says menacingly, “you stink of fear.”

Lucifer grimaces to himself, trying to keep his hands from shaking while he starts on the last few symbols. He doesn’t say anything, not giving Ramiel any other way to sense his presence.

He doesn’t need it though, because a second later Lucifer feels his skin burn as the warding he’s drawn on himself fizzles away. He hisses in pain but finishes the sigil and slams his bleeding palm on top of it. Ramiel snarls at him when he sees who just froze him in place. His hands are in fists where they’re frozen, one still outstretched towards lucifer from burning away his warding. Sam and Dean bust through the double doors at that moment, to see a broken window, a frozen Ramiel, and Lucifer with his palm pressed to a massive bloody circle on the wall. 

“Lucifer, as I live and breathe,” the Prince says, voice low and dangerous. 

Said former archangel ignores him, running towards Sam and Dean and pushing them out of the room. “It’ll only hold him for a minute, we need to run.” As soon as his hand left the wall the sigil had begun to burn away, so Lucifer didn’t waste any time dragging Sam and Dean out the front door.

“What was that?” Sam hissed to the blonde, but didn’t try to fight being pulled outside.

Lucifer’s response is short and clipped. “A Prince of Hell.” 

Wally meets them on the porch, interrupting before Sam or Dean can ask anything else. “Guys, we got a problem!”

“Yeah, we know,” Sam says.

“No, you don’t. Demons incoming.”

As he says that, two demons reach the fence bordering the house.

“Alright, get to Mom and Cass. We got this. Go.” Sam pushes Dean towards the right side of the porch. He doesn’t argue, leaving Sam, Lucifer, and Wally to face the two regular demons. “You two ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Lucifer grimaces, pulling a spare angel blade out as he takes up the rear.

“First time for everything,” Wally adds in agreement.

The demons lunge at them, the female attacking Wally while the males goes for Sam. Lucifer gets pinned to the wall between them both when the demons corral them back against the door. He shoves his way out, and Sam struggles with his demon all the way to the end of the porch where Dean had just hopped over the railing to run around the house to Mary and Cass. Lucifer trusts Sam to handle one demon, so he focuses his efforts on Wally and the female demon instead. 

Sam breaks through the railing and falls to the ground with the male demon, managing to stab him with the demon blade before he gets up. Lucifer uses the distraction to tackle the female demon as she was starting to get the upper hand on Wally, and the two of them go tumbling down the stairs.

Wally helps Sam back up while Lucifer wrestles with his demon, managing to pin her underneath him after a moment or two. She knows she’s lost, but she smiles up at him while he raises his blade over her chest. “Crowley is coming for you, Lucifer.”

He doesn’t give her the satisfaction of looking scared while he snarls, burying the angel blade in her chest and watching the life flash out of her body.

When Lucifer stands up, he can see Wally staring at him in confusion. “What did she mean,  _Lucifer_? Why’d she call you that?”

Lucifer shoots the dead body a glare, and then glances helplessly at Sam. The hunter seems to mentally debate for a minute, and then he takes control of the situation. “’Cause that’s his name, Wally. Now’s not the time, we’ll explain later.”

“But—”

“I  _said_  not right now.”

That shuts Wally up, just in time for Dean to come running back around the side of the house. “I think they drove off, I don’t see the demon anywhere.”

Sam nods, getting his phone out and dialling his mom’s number.

Lucifer stays silent, ripping some of the demon’s shirt off to bind the cut on his hand with. He can feel Wally staring at him on the back of his neck. It hurts more than he would’ve expected. He genuinely liked Wally.

Dean makes his way over to them while Sam keeps calling Mary until she picks up. “You two okay?”

“Yeah,” Lucifer mumbles at the same time that Wally practically shouts “No.”

Dean gives them both a funny look. “Okay, spill.”

Wally glances at Sam, then decides that he’s busy and turns his stare back towards Lucifer. “That demon called him Lucifer. He told me his name is Lou.”

Dean grimaces as he realises the issue. Lucifer beats him to the punch, though. “You told me your name is Wally, isn’t that short for Walter?”

“Wallace,” Wally corrects him. “And this isn’t the same. I heard rumours that Lucifer was free again. You’re him, aren’t you? The Devil?”

Before Lucifer can start an argument, Dean cuts in, intent on shutting this down. “He was. But he’s a different person now. I know you don’t know us that well but I need you to trust us. He’s on our side now.”

“He’s  _Satan._ ” 

“He’s a  _person_ ,” Dean says, making Lucifer look at him with an expression Dean can’t quite define. “He bakes. He watched the first season of Glee in less than a week. He likes  _Disco_. Actually, forget that last one. No  _s_ _ane_  person likes disco.”

Lucifer snorts, used to Dean ragging on his taste in music. “And you’re stuck in the Eighties- you don’t hear me complaining.”

“My  _point_  is,” Dean focuses on Wally, “that you can’t judge a book by its title. You liked Lucifer before you knew his full name, so maybe you should think about that before you just decide he’s evil now, okay?”

“He  _lied_  to me,” Wally insists, but with a little less conviction than before.

It was the wrong thing to say. Lucifer gets a look like a storm cloud on his face as he responds. “I  _misled_  you—I never  _lied_ toyou—and you’d do the same damn thing if everyone hated you the instant they heard your name. I don’t care if you like me or not, Wallace.” Lucifer plucks his sword out of the demon’s chest and wipes the blood off on his boot. “I’m used to blind hatred. But do  _not_  let your opinions of me get in the way of this hunt. If we want to beat a Prince of Hell, every last  _one_ of us needs to be at the top of our game.”

Wally watches him, and though he’s still not sold on Lucifer being a good guy, he does have to admit that he’s right. He doesn’t have any other option but to trust them right now. “Just one more thing. Does Mary know?”

“She does.” Lucifer says, looking him in the eyes. “You can ask her when we find her and Cass.”

That seems to calm Wally down a little, and his next question has significantly less bite behind it. “I don’t get it… If you’re Lucifer, can’t you just order demons to back off or something?”

The blond shakes his head, fiddling with the makeshift bandage on his hand while he waits for Sam to get ahold of Mary. “I have no powers. A witch took them from me, so I’m not really capable of making  _anyone_  do what I want right now. That said, I’m not sure my authority would mean much to Ramiel regardless. He and I haven’t been on very good terms lately.”

“Figures we’d get one of the handful of Demons who doesn’t worship the ground you walk on,” Dean jokes with a roll of his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be surprised,” Lucifer sighs, “I’m not a lucky guy.”

That ends the conversation on a rather solemn note. Thankfully, Sam gets ahold of Mary just about then, and everyone is too focused on listening to his half of the conversation to worry about anything else. “Hey, where are you?”

There’s a long pause while he listens intently to her instructions. “Yeah, okay. We’re on our way. Are you okay?”

Her answer makes Sam’s worried brow-crease deepen, and he just says one more thing before he hangs up: “Hang in there, mom.” He shuts his phone and takes charge again, gesturing for the other three to follow him back to the car. “Wally, I need the keys.”

There are no arguments as Dean, Lucifer, and Wally follow him, Wally jogging to match his pace once he fishes the car keys out of his pocket. Sam looks Wally in the eyes before he takes the keys from his hand. “I heard what you were talking about with Dean and Lucifer. Are we gonna have a problem?”

“No,” Wally replies timidly in the face of Sam’s intense gaze. “Not at all.”

“Good.” Sam takes the keys, back to being friendly but still in charge. “We’re gonna need everyone if we’re gonna bring this guy down. And if I can’t count on you to have  _everyone’s_  back, then I’d rather have you stay behind.”

Wally nods, and then glances back at Lucifer, remembering how he tackled that demon off of him not ten minutes ago. “… You can count on me.”

Sam nods, satisfied. It’s not long before they reach the Impala, and Sam takes the wheel, Wally takes shotgun, and Dean and Lucifer hop in back. It’s then that Sam notices the bloody rag wrapped around Lucifer’s hand. “Hey, that doesn’t look good, are you okay?”

“It’s just a shallow cut, I’m fine,” Lucifer says, tucking his hand out of sight. “It looks worse than it is.” He should know better than to lie about his injuries to the Winchesters. In his panic, he cut himself way deeper than he intended to.

“Then you won’t mind getting it cleaned out asap. Dean, get some alcohol on his hand,” Sam replies smoothly, starting the engine and starting off down the road.

“Okay,” Lucifer hedges when Dean produces a bottle of dollar-store whiskey. He glares at Sam’s smug look in the rear-view mirror, “I lied. I’ll probably need stitches. But that doesn’t mean I can’t still help.”

Sam leaves the talking to Dean for this one while he focuses on the road, looking for the barn Mary told him about.

“We’re not saying you can’t,” Dean tells him, putting the bottle down. “But you’ve already got a target on your back with this guy. And if you can’t hold a gun to defend yourself with, maybe you’d be better off staying in the car.”

“I cut my  _left_  hand,” Lucifer points out. “I am still perfectly capable of holding a gun.”

Dean shrugs, and gestures for Lucifer to let him look at his hand. "If you really wanna fight, I'm not gonna stop you. But if you or Wally wants to stay behind, there's no shame in that either. Didn't you say these princes were like children to you?"

"They were," Lucifer allows, letting Dean get a look at his hand. Thankfully most of the blood has dried up on the cloth already. "But after seeing Ramiel's choice in décor, I don't think he has much of a sense of family pride. He's obviously had a change of heart, and so have I." He grimaces a bit as Dean peels the cloth away from his skin so he can re-tie it better. "Anyways, he threw Castiel out a window. Beating you guys up is  _my_  job."

Dean snorts, re-securing the cloth so it won't shift as much by wrapping part of it around Lucifer's thumb. "No offense, but you kinda suck at your job then," he jokes. "What  _décor_ could possibly offend you so much anyways? Was it the singing fish?"

Wally was giving them both a look that screamed  _'What the hell is going on here??? What is wrong with you people???'_  while Lucifer just stifled a laugh under his breath.

Lucifer's voice takes a dour tone as he answers. "He had a  _lovely_  painting on his wall titled  _St. Michael Vanquishing Satan_. Gorgeous brush technique, but I'm not really a fan of Raphael's work."

Dean gives an exaggerated cringe, “Ouch. Guess he isn’t shooting for the favourite son award.”

“I’ll admit that I’m not surprised,” Lucifer muses, turning away to look out the window. “Ramiel never thought much of my vision. He was always very incredibly skilled, a fast learner, and very inventive, but lacked the drive needed to accomplish anything. Azazel and Asmodeus were always the ones most eager to please…” 

“Do you think maybe Asmodeus would help us then?” Dean pushes, recognising the look in Lucifer’s eyes and forcing him to stay in the present. “If you asked? Last time it took a magical kill-everything gun to beat one of these guys. We could use all the help we can get.”

“No.” Lucifer responds with a tinge of sadness. “I can’t expect any help from Asmodeus. Dagon, maybe, but there would have to be some incentive in it for her.” He pauses, gaze shifting to Wally temporarily. “We’re not going to… or at least, we don’t  _have_  to kill him, do we? Ramiel is reasonable, mostly. I can’t expect  _special_   _treatment_  from him but perhaps we can still both walk away without anyone dying.”

“Dude, you  _just_  said he has artwork of your grisly death.”

“I know but…” Lucifer can’t quite meet Dean’s eyes, “can you blame me for not exactly  _wanting_  to see him dead? He’s sorta like family, in a way.”

Sam’s the one to respond, his tone oddly gentle. “Like we said, Lucifer, you can stay in the Impala if you want to. We’re not going to ask you to kill him if you don’t want to, but I don’t see this ending in anything but a fight. We seriously pissed him off.” There’s a pause before he continues, taking charge again. “But we could really use your help, especially if you can tell us anything about him that might be useful.”

The former Archangel nods, leaning back in his seat. “What kinda guardian angel would I be if I didn’t help you idiots fight a Prince of Hell? I said I’m coming in with you, that’s that. As for Ramiel, he’s not really a fighter. He likes to collect things. He probably won’t come after us unless we have something he wants, or, like you said, we sufficiently pissed him off. If it does come to a fight, don’t attack one at a time. He’s a quick study so he’ll get used to fighting you long before you get used to fighting him.” It feels weird, recounting his Prince’s strengths and weaknesses in preparation for a fight. “But none of that really matters if we don’t have a weapon that can harm him. Our best bet is to trap him in a ring of Holy fire and try talking to him. Like I said, he’s not a fighter, and he’s generally pretty reasonable.”

“And what  _will_  hurt him?” Wally asks, turned around in his seat to face Dean and Lucifer.

Lucifer hesitates to answer, not a fan of Wally’s tone. “The Colt, obviously. But I’m certain he’s either destroyed that or he’s locked it away somewhere we couldn’t possibly find it. If you guys have my staff laying around somewhere after the fight with Amara, that’d do the trick too. Though if you had that, it might be a better idea to offer it to him in exchange for letting us go. I’m sure he’d take the trade.” He pauses, giving them a chance to tell him if they have it.

“I think Crowley took it,” Sam says after a second. “I don’t know. The rest of us were more concerned with getting back to the bunker. Chuck was kinda dying.”

The blond nods, continuing after a moment of slightly disappointed silence. “Holy fire will hold him, but it won’t hurt him permanently, it’d just piss him off. In case you were considering  _Molotov_ -ing him, Dean.”

“For the record,” Dean says, “my idea to Molotov Michael was awesome. I’ve never been more proud of Cass. It was worth it to piss off Captain stick-up-his-ass.”

That got Dean a sour look in response, followed by an eye-roll. “He may be a drag and he may have a thicker skull than most dinosaurs, but that’s my brother you’re talking about. I didn’t appreciate your attempt to blow him up.  _I_  never set  _your_  brother on fire.”

“Wait,” Wally interrupts, wide-eyed, “Are you talking about Michael like, the  _Archangel_  Michael?”

Dean ignores Wally, taking a sarcastic tone with Lucifer, “No, you just had one of your kids feed him demon blood as a baby and then hounded him for months to say Yes so you could wear him like a prom dress to your stupid prize fight. You’re right, that’s  _way_ better.”

“We’re here.” Sam interrupts firmly, turning off the road and driving around to park the Impala somewhere out of sight. He didn’t say as much, but his tone made it clear that the conversation was over.

“About fucking time,” Lucifer says, pushing his way out of the car as soon as it comes to the stop.

Dean and Sam are out right after, leaving Wally to scramble out to catch up to them, still confused and overwhelmed. “Guys? You seriously Molotov-ed  _the_  Michael? Like from the Bible? Guys?”

No one gave him an answer however, and he was left to just muse on what an exponential increase in crazy his life has had in the past few hours. He’s on a hunt with the Devil and some guys who set  _Michael_  on fire. Is he… are they the bad guys? What kinda crazy upside-down world is he living in? Angels are supposed to be the good guys, and Lucifer is supposed to be evil… right???

Why does it feel like everything he used to believe in is wrong?

 

* * *

 

“What the hell just happened?” Dean doesn’t waste any time once he gets inside the barn. He sees Mary right away, but Castiel is somewhere out of sight.

Mary looks at them both, and behind them to see Lucifer. “Where’s Wally?”

“Right behind me,” Lucifer answers, gesturing back towards the car. “Getting himself a gun.”

Her shoulders relax at the news, but tense up again when Castiel grunts in pain behind her. Sam and Dean are moving towards the sound in an instant, not liking the noise one bit.

“Cass?” Dean calls, walking around the farm tools to see his friend. When he does, he turns back to his brother. “Sam. Sammy!”

Sam was about to ask his mom something, but when he hears the concerned tone in Dean’s voice, he drops it and makes his way to Dean and Castiel.

“You look like hammered crap,” Dean tells the angel, eyeing the blood covering his shirt.

Castiel keeps pressing on it, obviously in a lot of pain as he answers. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Cass?” Sam’s voice jumps up in pitch as he sees the state Castiel is in. “No,  _Cass_.”

Lucifer gives Mary a worried look before he passes her, following the boys to see what’s wrong with his brother. “Shit,” he curses under his breath, sweeping past Sam, who’s frozen in place staring at Castiel. He gets on his knees, looking at Castiel askance before lifting up his shirt. “Let’s have a look…” he mutters, and his heart sinks when he sees the familiar blackened cracks in Castiel’s skin. He quickly puts the shirt back down, hoping Sam at least didn’t see.

Dean did, however, and he looks as worried as Lucifer feels. “Hey, you know what?” He gives Castiel a tight smile, “I’ve had worse.”

“Oh yeah?” Castiel heaves a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, “When?”

Nobody has an answer for him. The wounded angel struggles to breathe as he continues, “Dean, Lucifer, Sam…” he looks over at the latter, with eyes that are both pained and apologetic. “Something’s wrong. I— I can’t heal myself. I think the…” He’s cut off by a cough, and a little blood colours his lips. “I think the demon’s spear was poisoned. I don’t… I— I think I’m dying…”

“No.” Dean shakes his head in denial, while Sam just stands there frozen, covering his mouth. “No, you just need some time, okay?” He looks at Lucifer, who’s simply watching the situation with sad, glistening eyes. “You’ll heal up the old-fashioned way. Right? Lucifer, he’s gonna get better, right? Say something, damnit!”

Lucifer shakes his head, not flinching when Dean yells at him. He just takes Castiel’s hand. “I’ve seen this before. There’s… There isn’t anything we can do. Even if I had my grace… there’s nothing. No cure.”

He hears a sob behind him from Sam, but his focus is on Dean, who only gets angry at his words. “Don’t  _bullshit_  me Lucifer! There’s a cure! There’s always a cure! You’ve seen this before, so what is it? How do we fix it?!”

Lucifer backs up, shaking his head as tears start to form in his eyes and he quickly blinks them away. “There’s nothing I can do, Dean. Michael’s lance, it… the spellwork is irreversible. I’ve already tried everything. My brothers… the angels I fell with, they all went like this. You have to believe I tried  _everything_  I could. If there was a cure, I never found it.” There’s another sob behind him from Sam as the hunter falls to his knees. Lucifer looks to Castiel, still holding his brother’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

Mary and Wally draw closer but don’t gather around Castiel like the other three have.

“You  _idiots._ ” Lucifer flinches as he recognises the new voice, and turns to see none other than Crowley standing behind Mary and Wally. “You’re all going to die.”

Dean’s response is immediate, getting up from the ground to one knee and pushing Lucifer behind him, putting himself between Crowley and Lucifer. “The hell are you doing here, Crowley?”

Sam collects himself as well, casting Castiel a worried look before he stands up to face down the demon too.

“You’re him? The King of Hell?” Mary steps away from him, putting a safe amount of distance between herself and him.

He gives the blonde woman a charming smile. “You must be Mother Winchester. Pleasure, I’ve heard so much.” He extends a hand to her, which she makes no move to shake.

“Touch me and I’ll kill you.” The huntress’ tone brooks no arguments. The sheer hostility in her voice and expression causes Crowley to pull his hand back and focus on something else.

He’s been on the receiving end of that voice, so Lucifer doesn’t blame Crowley for retreating. Keep in mind, Lucifer is somewhere between 13 and 14 billion years old… not many things scare him. That said, Mary Winchester’s wrath is not something Lucifer ever wants to encounter again, grace or no.

The archangel stays where he is, crouched near Castiel and a wary eye on the demon who just arrived. He feels Crowley’s eyes pause on him for a moment, but then he chooses to focus on Wally. “You’re new. Have a name?” He waits for Wally to open his mouth and then cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Nevermind, I don’t care. What’s up with feathers? Why’s Lu-Lu out of the safety of his nest?”

Rather than answer him, Dean stands the rest of the way up, glaring at Crowley. “I asked first. What are you even doing here? How’d you find us?”

Sam arrives at the answer before Crowley comes up with a snarky retort. “Wait a second- the demons. They were yours.”

“ _Obviously_.” The demon rolls his eyes, strolling along the edge of the scattered perimeter the others set up around Castiel and Lucifer. “Which brings me back to my initial point. You’re a great big bunch of  _Morons._  Do you know what you’ve done? Does the name Ramiel mean anything to you?”

A chorus of yeses sounds from around the group; all but Mary, who looks around at everyone else and then shakes her head. “No.”

Sam takes the lead again, taking advantage of Crowley being temporarily thrown as an opportunity to collect himself. “Lucifer already told us all we need to know. About Ramiel, the Princes, and Michael's Lance." Sam glances back at Castiel, and then quickly looks away, knowing that if he lets himself think about it too much, he's gonna lose it. Castiel doesn't need him panicked, he needs Sam to keep his head right now if they're gonna find a way to help them.

At the sort-of explanation from Sam as to what happened to Castiel, Crowley's expression goes from smug to sombre. "The Lance of Michael..." He muses thoughtfully, "Sorry, Castiel. I'll remember you fondly."

"No, no..." Dean shakes his head, clearly still in denial. "He's not gonna die. There's a cure, there's always a cure, we just have to find it."

Lucifer and Crowley eye him sadly, for once sharing the same sentiments. Crowley's the one who speaks up, entertaining Dean's denial. "How?"

"First, we trap Ramiel," Sam says more confidently than he feels. "We can't do anything until he's dealt with."

Dean nods, standing up and punching his fist against his palm. "And then we beat his ass until he gives it up. He has the spear--"

"Lance," Crowley corrects him.

"Whatever." Dean says, "He's had it for a while, if anyone besides Michael knows how to cure Cass, it'll be him."

"It's not going to work," Crowley tells him gently.

At Dean's claim, Sam gets a hopeful look in his eyes. There's a high possibility that Dean's wrong, but there's also a chance that he's right, too. "We took down the Darkness," Sam points out, "And Lucifer. No offence." He nods to the blonde, who shrugs.

"None taken, I'm rooting for you guys."

"It took us  _years_ to defeat him," Crowley gestures to Lucifer, "and the power of  _God_  to stop the Darkness. Maybe if you had more time, you could manage Ramiel. But right now, in this barn..." Crowley shrugs, shooting Castiel a sympathetic look. "Hey, I was growing fond of the choir boy too."

Sam shakes his head, refusing to accept Crowley and Lucifer just giving up like that. "No. We'll trap Ramiel, and then we'll have the lance, Lucifer, and all of us. We'll figure something out. Cass is  _not_  gonna die. There's gotta be a way to fix this."

Crowley sighs patiently. "Love the optimism, Sam, but legend has it that there's only one thing that's survived that Lance, and he's being awfully quiet right now."

"Wh..." Dean frowns, then turns to look at Lucifer. "Is he telling the truth? You?"

Lucifer shrinks back further, not liking all the eyes suddenly on him. "I didn't tell you because it doesn't make a difference. I'm an  _Archangel,_  Dean. There's only one thing in all of creation that  _can_  kill one of us, no matter how hard Michael tried to find another way. Hurt like a bitch, but yeah, I survived. There  _is no_  miracle cure. Maybe... Maybe if he consumed all my grace, he'd survive, but that's not a guarantee, and we don't have the time to find Rowena and get it to him... I didn't want to give you false hope." He keeps his eyes on Dean as he speaks, not wanting to face Crowley just yet. It’s easier to just look at Dean, to focus on someone he trusts when the demon is so near.

"So you lied to us," Sam growls, glaring at Lucifer and missing the smug look on Crowley's face. "That  _wasn't_  your call."

"Sam," Castiel coughs, raising his hand to try to grab the Hunter's. "Don't—don't blame Lucifer. He was protecting you. And he's—he's right. Even if it... could make a difference, I'd die before we could get the grace anyways." The angel coughs and aborts trying to grab hold of Sam's hand, clutching his side. "You should... all of you should go. Run. I'll buy you what time I can."

Sam gets a pained look on his face again, and he kneels back down, taking Castiel's hand. "No... Cass, no way in hell are we leaving you behind. You're gonna be fine, okay?"

"Feathers is right," Crowley tells them, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "He's a goner. You might as well make a run for it while you can."

"Shut up." Dean starts, advancing on Crowley and forcing him to retreat. "Shut  _up_. We don’t have time, okay, for your– for  _you_. So either help us or get the hell out of here!"

Almost before he's finished shouting, Crowley is gone, nowhere to be seen.

"Yeah, figures," the hunter scoffs. He turns his attention back to Castiel, his concern for the angel very clear. However, Castiel isn't looking at him, he's looking around the room in a panic like he's trying to find something.

Sam's the one that clues Dean in, his voice taking on a decidedly morbid tone. "Dean, Lucifer is gone."

Dean bolts to his feet then, looking behind him— _Lucifer was right there_ —before realising what the former archangel's sudden disappearance must mean. "Son of a  _Bitch,_ " the hunter curses loudly, his hands going up to grip his hair in frustration and worry. " _Crowley._  I swear to  _God_  I'm gonna kill that motherfucker."

As if things couldn't get any worse. Now Crowley  _nabbed_  Lucifer the second they all let their guards down. Dean can't fully process the overwhelming amount of anxiety he's been hit with. On the one hand, Cass, his best friend in the world, is dying a slow, painful death. On the other, they have a Prince of Hell about to come busting down this barn door. He doesn't have a third hand to hold onto the fact that  _Lucifer was_ _just kidnapped again by the demon who raped and tortured him._

Dean releases a frustrated cry at the obscene run of bad luck they're having. He expresses himself by punching a hay bale as hard as he can. And  _on top_  of all this shit, they're down  _two_  people to help deal with Ramiel now.

Sam watches in dismay as his brother loses his cool, viciously overturning a piece of farm equipment in his fit of rage. Dean yells angrily, storming off- probably to find something to kick. Nobody tries to stop him from doing so. He needs to vent, they all get that.

Sam, however, drops back to Castiel's side, pressing a quick kiss to the angel's cheek while everyone's attention is on Dean. "Stay with me, Cass," Sam pleads quietly, holding his hand like he believes that if he  _just keeps holding on_  then Cass can’t slip away. 

Castiel squeezes Sam's hand with all the strength he can muster. "What is it humans say?" He responds quietly, his eyes focusing sadly on Sam's sullen expression, "til death do us part, Sam."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so damn long. It took me a bit longer than I expected to finish up with the writing, and then My lovely editor was sick with an Ear Infection/fever, so the delays were definitely a team effort on this one. But I sure hope the wait was worth it!! 
> 
> Comments are better than blood sacrifices.


	21. Stuck in the Middle (With You) - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Well I don't know why I came here tonight,_  
>  _I got the feeling that something ain't right,_  
>  _I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair,_  
>  _And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs,_  
>  _Clowns to the left of me,_  
>  _Jokers to the right, here I am,_  
>  _Stuck in the middle with you._  
>  \- Stealers Wheel, Stuck in the Middle With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning: Mentions of & references to past rape/abuse, victim blaming, reunion(?) of victim and abuser, violence, slut shaming, somewhat realistic representation, lots of consent issues, ~~I'm sure there's more but I think that's the worst of it. hopefully, if you read the last chapter you have an idea of what to expect here.~~**
> 
> **Disclaimer:** While I did consult with and take advice from a person with first-hand experiences similar to what Lucifer is dealing with in this chapter, I intentionally tried to keep his thought processes and reactions to a degree, unrealistic. The overdramatic-ness in some places is intentional for both the sake of the plot and hopefully, your benefit. I'm aware that these scenes are not 100% accurate to how a trauma victim would react, and I want it to be known that this chapter does not represent an accurate depiction of trauma and rape victims.

As soon as the scenery shifts and Lucifer recognises the gut-wrenching yank of demonic teleportation, he reaches down for the slightly bloodied angel blade he stuffed down in his boot and swings it blindly in front of him.

"Whoah," Crowley says from behind him, grabbing onto his arm. "Slow down, tiger."

Lucifer twists, grabbing Crowley's arm and Judo-throwing the demon over his shoulder.

Crowley groans, but is aware enough of his surroundings to grab Lucifer's wrist when the blond tries again to impale him with his angel blade. It's a simple matter from there for him to flip their positions and to twist Lucifer's wrist until he drops the blade, and then Crowley gets himself back to his feet, breathing heavily and grinning from above Lucifer.

Lucifer doesn’t give up, a wild look in his eyes as he scrambles back quickly, retrieving the blade with his left hand as he jumps back to his feet, taking another swing at the demon, this one far less coordinated than the first.

Again, Crowley catches his arm with an almost bored kind of ease. He twists again, and doesn’t stop even when the blade falls back out of Lucifer’s grip. Crowley adjusts his hold on Lucifer’s hand slightly so that he has his thumb in the center of Lucifer’s palm— _ri_ _ght where he cut it_ ** _fuck_** _—_ and then he twists Lucifer’s wrist back  _hard_ , pulling a yelp of pain from the former devil as his body drops down in response, preventing his wrist from being broken. Before he even registers what Crowley did, Lucifer is on his knees, the demon still holding his wrist painfully backwards.

Ice runs down his back as unwanted memories flood his mind, recalling the last time he was on his knees at Crowley’s feet. He doesn’t try to break out of the Demon King’s hold this time, frozen in place with his eyes trained on Crowley.

“Kitty's got claws,” the impeccably-dressed demon teases, kicking the blade away. “Good, you’ll need them.”

“What?” Lucifer interrupts, surprise crossing his face and drowning out his panic for a split second.

Crowley smiles at him in a patronising way, waving his free hand as he continues. “Believe it or not, right now I'm not interested in dragging you off or going for a round two, Lucifer. Thing is, I hate you—a  _lot_ —but more than that, I value the Winchesters' lives. I need to fix this mess you lot made. You and I are gonna have a chat with Ramiel. Together, we have the best shot at talking him down; so, deal?" As he finishes, Crowley releases the former archangel’s wrist and leaves the hand hanging in the air between them, extending it in an invitation for Lucifer to shake.

Lucifer glances at where his blade has been kicked to, considering knocking Crowley's feet out from under him and making a break for it. It takes him a second— _too long—_ to make the connection between Crowley’s words and the current dilemma with Ramiel.

_Round two—_ not  _that_ , he means lucifer attacking him. Maybe he does mean  _that_  but—this isn’t helping. He wants to work  _together_? Sure, Ramiel is, in a way, his son, but...

“You're staying to help?" The words come out a bit more incredulously than he intends, and Crowley looks offended by his blatant disbelief.

The demon shrugs indifferently. "What can I say? The buffoons are useful."

Lucifer hesitates, considers it, and then considers the repercussions if they don't even  _try_  to stop Ramiel. Considers what  _Crowley_  will do instead if he says no. Then he takes Crowley's hand, shaking it once. "Deal.” Maybe if he just plays along and stays alert, he can get back to the Winchesters before the night is through.

“I still don't care for you,” he adds bitterly, his eyes going downcast for the briefest second as he considers his position right now. They jump back up almost immediately along with Lucifer’s panic level when Crowley is out of his sight.  _Crowley can’t be trusted_ —he says he’s helping, but Lucifer shouldn’t let his guard down around him for even a second.

"And I you," Crowley retorts smoothly, using Lucifer's handshake to pull the angel back to his feet. "But we both like the Winchesters, and that's all that matters now."

As soon as he's standing again—albeit shakily—Lucifer lets go of Crowley’s hand, and then pointedly brushes it off on his pant leg. He goes to pick his blade back up, not about to let himself be unarmed in Crowley's presence. The demon doesn’t stop him, just eyeing Lucifer from a safe distance.

When Lucifer doesn't say anything else, Crowley starts walking out to intercept Ramiel. "So what brings a scaredy-cat like you to a fight like this?" He asks, smug as ever.

Lucifer doesn't deign to answer the question, just tightening his grip on his blade. Don't respond, don't respond. He'll get bored and leave you alone.

"Nice wardrobe. Let me guess- borrowing Dean's fashion sense?"

"His clothes fit me," is the terse answer Lucifer gives him after a second.

Crowley grins, pushing the devil's shoulder. "And here I was thinking  _Sam_  is the one who fit you."

He gets no response from Lucifer this time, the blond merely keeping his eyes ahead on the still faraway figure of Ramiel.

"What? No jokes? No quips? No witty one-liners? Luci, you're all work and no play, it's  _boring_."

The Fallen Angel  _knows_  he should just ignore Crowley. It'd be in his best interest, but he can't help but feel anger rising in his chest. "Quit your barking, puppy. We're working together to save the boys, not to socialise."

"I'm hurt--"

"I don't give a shit."

Crowley pauses at the other's terse tone, and Lucifer can feel the demon's eyes on him as they walk in silence for a moment.

"Your hands are shaking, Lucifer."

The blond sets his jaw, ignoring the statement and stuffing his empty hand in his pocket, balled up into a fist. He speeds up his pace, hoping he can just ignore Crowley the rest of the way to Ramiel.

"You're  _scared_ ," Crowley observes out loud, sounding genuinely surprised. "Of what? Ramiel? The Lance?"

When he asks that, Lucifer rounds on him, incredulity written across his face. "You've got to be shitting me. No, who do you  _think_ , Crowley?" He doesn’t even think about the words leaving his lips, just clinging to the anger he feels—it’s better than letting himself be consumed by terror.

The demon looks perplexed, and then he notices the wariness in the glare Lucifer is giving him.

"… Me? ...No, can't be."

" _Can't be?"_  Lucifer hisses angrily, "After what you did to me?"

Crowley shakes his head, unconvinced. "You hardly seemed scared of me when you banished myself  _and_  a hellhound  _without_  an exorcism. I didn't even know that was  _possible_."

The devil scoffs, turning and continuing to stalk towards Ramiel with purpose in his step. He can't  _believe_  this. If Crowley thinks he can just... play  _dumb_  and get Lucifer to let his guard down, he's wrong. He’s not having this discussion with the demon. It should say something that he’d rather talk to a royally pissed-off Prince of Hell than he would Crowley.

"You can't  _seriously_  be afraid of me," Crowley protests, sounding amused. "You're—well— _you._ The flattery is appreciated, though."

Lucifer rounds on him then, fire in his eyes. Crowley barely stops himself from running into him.

"I can't?" Lucifer hisses, his fist tightening around his angel blade while his shoulders tremble with either fear or rage. "Why, because  _you_  say so? Just because I'm the devil, I don't get to be  _scared_  like everybody else? I don’t get to care that you..." His knuckles go white on both his his hands, "you..." He can't say it, and he gives up, turning away so he doesn't have to look at Crowley. "… I was humiliated," he finally says, with less bite than he wanted.

"Oh my gods," Crowley says, sounding somehow both in awe and annoyed. "Is that what you've been telling the Winchesters? That I  _raped_  you? You've got to be kidding me. You  _goaded_  me. You said 'go right ahead' and 'do your worst'. You  _participated_  for Pete's sake." He scowls up at the blond, who takes a step back. "I could see the dog being a step too far, but you had the option to end it at any moment.  _Y_ _ou don't get to play victim,_ not when you were moaning like a little  _slut_  the whole time."

Lucifer is visibly shaking now, and he knows he shouldn't escalate it, but if he doesn't defend himself, that's just as bad as agreeing. "I was in  _pain_ , jackass! And what other option did I have? Are you telling me I should tell my vessels to say yes or I'll drag them down to Hell with me? Is that how you get consent, Crowley?" He swallows hard, feeling a bit sick to his stomach. "I only said those things because I didn't think you'd actually do it if you thought I wasn't scared!"

"So why are you surprised I didn't think you  _were_  scared?!" Crowley shouts back, cutting him off. "I thought you were down for a little hate-fucking between enemies! You sure  _seemed_  like it!"

"Why would I—How does  _that_  make sense?!" Lucifer exclaims, practically in hysterics.

The demon throws his hands up, rolling his eyes. "Oh, like you've never done it before. You're no  _saint._ "

"I didn't—"

"Like that was your  _first time_  the way you were blowing me!”

It hits Lucifer then— _Crowley doesn’t know_. He doesn’t know the significance of what he took from Lucifer. He can’t possibly understand exactly how much he affected the archangel, because through his eyes, it was just another fuck with some torture sprinkled in.  _He doesn’t know he’s Lucifer’s firs_ _t._  

Lucifer will be damned before he tells Crowley that. Crowley doesn’t know how scared Lucifer is, how tormented he is by nightmares, how he can’t think about sex without thinking of that night, because it’s the only first-hand experience he’s had with it.  _He doesn’t know how much power he has over Lucifer—he doesn’t know what he drove Lucifer to do just to be safe from him._

He glances at his arm briefly, the one with the ring of enochian spellbinding and Dean’s name tattooed just under his sleeve. Touching Dean’s handwriting is usually enough to make him feel safe, but this time just knowing it’s there helps him to regain some of his composure. It may have started as a symbol of his desperation, but now it’s become a comfort to him— _especially_  because Crowley has no idea it’s there.

Shaking his head, Lucifer turns away to continue down their path, breaking off the conversation. He doesn’t like having Crowley out of his sight, but he can’t let the demon see his face right now, not while he’s so put off-balance. He needs to take back control of his emotions… he can’t let Crowley have power over that, too.

“Back to the silent treatment?” Crowley sneers, sounding the tiniest bit disappointed. “Fine, coward. Let’s just get this done. I can see him now, over there.”

Lucifer doesn’t answer, just looks up to see where Crowley is pointing and frowns when he sees Ramiel walking towards them at a leisurely pace. He’s close enough that Lucifer can see the smile on his face, but far enough off that he can’t quite make out the Prince’s eyes.

“Ramiel!” Lucifer calls out, trying to sound authoritative. He starts walking in earnest, determined to keep Ramiel away from his friends. “Stop this! There doesn’t need to be any more fighting!”

Laughter drifts towards them from the Prince of Hell. “They’re sending you as their peacemaker? I never thought I’d see the day, old man!”

“A lot of things have changed,” Lucifer shouts back. “We can talk about this!”

“Oh, so  _now_  you wanna talk to me!” Ramiel responds bitterly, “Too little too late, dad!”

Lucifer stops walking and deliberates to himself for a moment. He needs a different approach but… what?

“Maybe bringing you wasn’t such a grand idea…” Crowley muses from just behind Lucifer, then picks up his pace and addresses Ramiel as he passes the graceless angel. “Fine, if you won’t stop and talk to us about this, tell us what we can do to keep you out of that barn!”

Ramiel is getting closer, Lucifer can see the anger in his eyes as he approaches—in striking contrast to the bemused smile on his lips. “I can smell the angel; he’s rotting. These people…” Ramiel looks distastefully at Lucifer, “They’re your friends? Both of you?”

“Yes.” Lucifer answers without hesitation.

“…” Crowley gives Lucifer a sideways glance before he turns back to Ramiel. “I don’t have friends. I make deals with those I can use. Every kingdom needs allies, even Hell.”

The Prince of Hell stops when he gets a few yards from them, giving a bemused snort as he crosses his arms. “ _Allies._ ” He looks Lucifer over again, seeming to size up the former angel. “Is that what you call three humans with  _one_  good liver between them, a busted up angel, and…  _this_  sad excuse for a  _Lord_  of Hell?”

“Ramiel…” Lucifer’s voice sounds slightly pained, “I know I wronged you—”

“Damn right you did,” Ramiel cuts him off, glaring intensely at his once-father.

“So don’t take it out on them,” the devil pleads. “It’s me you’re angry with, let them go.”

That answer seems to surprise Ramiel, and he hesitates for a moment before speaking. “You really care about them. These…  _humans_. Why?”

Lucifer hears the curiosity in his estranged son’s tone and clings to the possibility of a chance, knowing how Ramiel values learning about things he doesn’t understand. “I was wrong about humans. It took me a long time—and becoming one myself—to figure that out, but I was wrong. They showed me that.” He pauses, and when Ramiel says nothing, he continues cautiously, “I was wrong to cut you off for taking an interest in them. I never should have abandoned you.”

Lucifer can feel Crowley staring at him and he knows the demon king has a million questions about what he’s talking about, but he doesn’t have time to explain right now.

“You’ve built something for yourself here, I don’t want you to lose it all now.” Lucifer takes a slow step forward, “if you go into that barn, you’ll lose, Ramiel. Just walk away. I don’t want to fight you, and I don’t want to see you die.” He may be bluffing, but he says it with far more confidence than he feels. He truly does have faith in the Winchesters’ ability to overcome any odds. It’s their most annoying quality.

Ramiel purses his lips slightly, clearly giving Lucifer's words some consideration but not making any comment on them; instead he just nods his acknowledgement and turns to Crowley. “And you?”

Crowley glances at Lucifer before he starts, staying behind the human. “I admit they don’t sound like much, but the worst mistake anyone can make is underestimating those denim-wrapped nightmares. Every Armageddon, every bloody, ‘ _this is the end of all thin_ _gs,’_  a Winchester stopped it. And now, as you can see, they’ve converted mister judgement-day himself. Like it or not, they aren’t an asset we can afford to lose.”

The other demon licks his lips briefly, looking between the two of them for a moment before settling back on Crowley. “We had an agreement, Crowley. No one bothers us. You remember?”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Lucifer interjects, boldly taking another step closer. “A new hunter asked for our help dealing with what he thought was a lone demon preying on this town. I didn’t know going in who you were, or I would have stopped him.” Ramiel doesn’t look pleased, but he allows Lucifer to continue. “Let us go, and we won’t bother you any further. You have my word.”

There’s another pause from Ramiel as he thinks it over, not looking happy. Lucifer holds his breath.

“You attacked me, and killed my guards.”

“And Castiel is dying,” Lucifer retorts. “We’ve paid, let us go.”

Finally, Ramiel seems to come to a decision, still looking angry. “You’ll have repaid when you return what was stolen from me. I’ll let you go if you give it back.”

“What?” Crowley and Lucifer ask at the same time. They share a look, and then Lucifer turns back to Ramiel, appearing lost. “We didn’t take anything, Ramiel… we only came to hunt a demon.”

That appears to be the wrong answer. Ramiel’s expression darkens. “… I believe you, which means one of them is lying to you. Get out of my way.”

Lucifer doesn’t move, “What was taken?”

“All that matters is it belongs to me,” the prince growls. “Move, Lucifer. You say you don’t want to fight me? Then run, save yourself. You’re good at that.”

“Wait,” Crowley steps forward, “We made one deal, we can make another. Whatever they took, I can get it back, or give you something of  _greater_  value.”

The demon hums, and Lucifer senses the danger in his tone.

Crowley doesn’t. “What do you say?”

Lucifer dodges to the side as Ramiel extends his arm, launching Crowley through the air towards the barn. He looks at Lucifer, who scrambles back to his feet from where he rolled into the hay. There are straws of hay in his hair and stuck to his clothes.

Ramiel gives him a long look, then starts walking towards the barn. “Make them return what they stole. This is their last chance, old man.”

Lucifer tosses his estranged son a grateful look as he turns and runs for the barn, knowing Ramiel won’t ask nicely twice.

* * *

 

_“Cass,”_ Sam’s voice breaks on his friend’s— _boyfriend’s_ —name, gripping Castiel’s hand tighter.

How can he  _say_ that _?_  “You’re  _not_ gonna die,” he insists, though he doesn’t really believe his own words.

Castiel looks like he’s going to answer, but he just turns to the side and coughs weakly, giving a small groan. Sam rubs his back soothingly, hoping he can help ease some of Castiel’s pain.

“How bad is it?” Dean asks once he’s finally calmed down a bit, coming over to kneel next to Cass and his brother.

With another pained sound that he tries and fails to bite back, Castiel pulls up his shirt enough to show that the black, necrotic injury has spread significantly. “… Sam, Dean, you should go, save yourselves.”

“Cass, no—” Sam says, distressed.

“No, you listen to me,” Castiel interrupts him, gritting his teeth. “You— look,  _thank you_ , thank you. Knowing you… it… it’s been the best part of my life. And the—” Castiel gasps sharply, grimacing as he makes a wrong move and pain lances through his deteriorating body. “The things we’ve shared together, they have changed me.” He looks pointedly at Dean and then Sam in turn before continuing. “You’re… you are my  _family_. I love you. I love all of you. Just please…  _please_ don’t make my last moments be spent watching you die. Just run. Save yourselves. I will hold Ramiel off for as long as I can.”

“Cass…” Dean drags his friend’s name out, lost on how exactly to respond for a moment, “we can’t just leave you here.”

“Yes you—” Castiel coughs again and catches his breath, “yes you can. You  _need_ to keep fighting.  _And_  you need to save Lucifer.”

“We  _are_  fighting,” Sam insists, gripping Castiel’s hand tighter before he lets go and stands up. “We’re fighting for you, Cass.”

“And like you said,” Dean adds, “you’re  _family_ , and we don’t leave family behind.”

The angel looks up at them both, his eyes becoming wells of sorrow and love as he realises that they aren’t going to back down this time.

As Sam turns away, a tear finally tracks down his cheek.

“Mom,” the younger Winchester calls out, and his mother moves closer, determination in her eyes.

“What’s the play?”

“We hit him with everything we’ve got.”

With that, Dean heads back out to the impala, Sam in tow as they go in search of supplies to prepare for Ramiel’s arrival.

* * *

 

It isn't long before Ramiel announces his arrival via catapulting Crowley through the barn door. Sam almost breaks the line of holy oil he’s pouring for the trap.

Dean cocks his gun, moving to inspect the groaning demon, and possibly to shoot him for running off with Lucifer. “Where is he?” The hunter asks gruffly, aiming at the king of hell’s face.

“Ugh… who, squirrel?”

“You  _know_  who, asshat! Lucifer!”

“Oh, him…” Crowley shakes himself out of his daze, “considering his angry adopted son just tossed me through a barn door, probably dead.”

Dean blinks. “You took him to Ramiel?”

“Well, of course. I needed him. You said help or get lost, so I helped.”

The hunter looks shocked for a second, then lowers his gun and lets Crowley get back to his feet. “He’s  _not_  dead.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, squirrel. Ramiel doesn’t like him much. He definitely hasn’t won any dad of the year awards.” Crowley grumbles, dusting himself off once he’s back on his feet. “Damned Prince… This suit was  _expensive_.”

Before Dean can say anything, the barn door is shoved open and Lucifer slips inside, shutting it behind him just as quickly.

“Told ya,” Dean smirks, pushing Crowley back on his ass as he heads to reunite with Lucifer. “Luce!” Before Lucifer can do or say anything to him, Dean wraps his friend up in a hug, “Thank god you’re okay, we were real worried about you.”

Lucifer freezes for a second, then relaxes into the hug. “I thought you said not to get used to these?”

“This is a special occasion.” Dean replies gruffly, and then lets go with a clearing of his throat. “Alright. Chick flick moment over. I take it diplomacy didn’t work?”

Lucifer frowns slightly, looking past Dean at the others scattered around in preparation for a fight. “Well. It sort of worked. He said one of us stole something from him, but wouldn’t say what it was. If we give it back, he’ll let us leave.” He looks at Mary and Wally, chewing his bottom lip. He doesn’t want to accuse them… but he knows it wasn’t Sam, Dean, Castiel or himself. None of them knew anything about this demon until this morning.

Wally glances at Mary, staying quiet.

Mary frowns, looking around at the group of them.

Dean mirrors her, giving Lucifer a look of confusion. “Nobody took anything, Lucifer… I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“…” Lucifer hesitates, looking less sure of himself and moving a step closer to Dean when he sees Crowley stand back up. “I told him that too, but he seems sure that we took something from him. Nobody picked anything up in the house? Even something you’d think insignificant?”

Mary can feel Lucifer’s eyes boring into her as he speaks, and she’s torn. If she gives up the Colt… they maybe walk away from this without a fight. But if she does that, her boys will ask questions and she’ll have to reveal her alliance with the Men of Letters. If she stays silent… people might die.

_Sorry, Ketch._ Mary sighs to herself. It’s not a contest, really. The whole point of joining the Men of Letters was to prevent more death. The lives of people always come first.

“I did take something,” she admits quietly, feeling her son’s eyes both snap to her in shock. She reaches behind herself, pulling the Colt out from the waistband of her jeans and unfolding the leather to let the others see. “I was told I could find this here. I never thought we’d find a yellow-eyed demon, too.” She hesitates, then continues more quietly when the glares aimed in her direction intensify. “I would’ve brought it up earlier but there were no bullets.”

Dean stares at her, and as she meets his eyes she can see the second he stops trusting her. It hurts.

It’s not Dean who yells at her, however.

“Cass is dying!” Sam shouts, his eyes livid. “Cass is dying because you didn’t  _tell us_  the real reason you came here?! Wally, did you even find this demon on your own?”

Wally looks panicked for a second, not expecting to be put on the spot like this. “… No… Mary asked for my help.”

“ _Who_?” Dean asks his mother with a tone like ice. “Who told you where to find this?”

Mary takes a step back, ashamed of herself and shocked by how badly her sons are reacting. “I… I didn’t know…” she looks at Dean, her eyes pleading for his forgiveness. “It was the Men of Letters. They told me. They’ve been… helping me hunt. We’ve done a lot of good, very quickly… they got intel on this, and sent me to retrieve it. It was supposed to be simple, a milk run…”

“You thought the  _Colt_  wouldn’t be heavily guarded?” Crowley interjects incredulously. “Now I know where the boys get their idiocy from.”

“Shut up.” Dean demands, pulling a hand down his face. “All of you, shut up. This changes things. We can give him the Colt, but there’s no guarantee that he’ll actually let us go. We’re ready to fight him already, so if we can make some bullets for that thing, we actually might stand a chance. And then we walk away with the Colt, too.”

“Dean,” Lucifer intones warningly, “we can’t fight him. I spoke to him, I know he doesn’t want a fight. He’ll let us walk if we give him the Colt.” The archangel pauses, “I’d bet my life on it. Please, don’t risk your lives for a fancy gun.”

Before Dean can respond, Sam stalks forward, snatching the Colt from Mary’s hands. “No, Dean is right. The Colt is our best bet at getting out of here. Lucifer, you know how to enchant the bullets, don’t you?”

The archangel looks reluctant, but nods at the question. “I do.”

“Good.” Sam tosses him the empty gun. “Your hand is busted, so it’s your job to go out to the Impala and whip up six rounds. We’ll hold him off until you get back. You need to get back here and shoot him as soon as you fill that gun.”

“I don’t—”

“That’s an  _order_.” Sam cuts him off, his anger flaring back up.

Lucifer looks like he wants to argue, but after a second of internal conflict, he just nods, running out the side of the barn to get to work.

“Sam…” Dean sounds disappointed in his brother, but doesn’t say anything more, not wanting to have this discussion with him now.

The younger Winchester catches enough of his meaning to look away in shame before taking charge again. “The plan hasn’t changed. Mo—Mary, be ready to light the circle. Wally, stay back and shoot him if he gets too close to any of us. Cass, hold on tight, buddy. Dean, you and I need to handle him if he gets out of the circle before it’s lit. Crowley…” Sam trails off, sparing the demon a cursory glance. “Do what you can.”

The others nods solemnly and get back into position—not a moment too soon, either. Almost the second that Mary gets back to the circle, Ramiel comes through the doors, slamming them wide open as he strolls in.

He walks right into the trap, but seems totally unafraid as the fire springs up around him. In fact, he seems amused.

“Toasty,” he comments, eyeing the others around him. “I see Lucifer bailed; that’s not surprising.”

Dean keeps his mouth shut about Lucifer’s whereabouts, just praying that the former angel gets the bullets made quickly. “He didn’t wanna fight you. But we do—you stabbed our friend.”

“Your friend was  _trespassing_ ,” the Prince corrects him.

Sam gets right up to the edge of the circle. “Tell us how to cure him, maybe we’ll let you live.”

“There  _is_  no cure,” Ramiel sneers, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“Alright,” Dean interrupts with a sharp glare. “No more screwing around. Do you have any idea who we are?”

“I don’t care,” The prince tells him gruffly, taking Dean aback. “I don’t care who you are. I don’t care why you’re here. I don’t care about Heaven or Hell or anything in between. I don’t even care that Lucifer bound himself to a couple of mere humans.”

“What?” Crowley interjects, shock clear in his voice.

The corners of Ramiel’s lips twitch upward. “My brother, Asmodeus, he’s been keeping a close eye on Dad. But me? Eh.”

“Let me guess,” Dean growls. “You don’t care.”

The demon shrugs as if to say ‘you got me.’ Then he lifts one hand from his pocket, revealing an ornate pocket watch. “ _All_  I wanted was to be left alone. But then you come,  _attack_  me in my home. I would let it go if that was all, but you  _stole_ from me. And that? Ooh,  _that_  I cannot abide.”

As the humans watch, he winds his watch up, setting the timer. “Your effect on my father intrigues me, so I’ll give you one last chance. Give me back what you stole, or I’ll take it off your lifeless bodies.” Ramiel holds the pocket watch up so they can see the timer. “You have thirty seconds.”

Dean looks around at the group, glancing out the side door and hoping that Lucifer will be done soon. He decides for a bluff, turning back to the demon. “Like we told Lucifer, we’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Twenty seconds,” is all the demon Prince responds with.

Ramiel looks at each of them in turn, sizing them up while the time runs out and nobody else dares to move or speak.

The pocketwatch finally clicks, and everyone can hear it in the relative silence of the barn.

“Have it your way,” The Prince drawls as he pockets the small trinket.

Smoothly, he reaches behind him, materialising Michael’s lance and holding it over his head dramatically. He raises it high, preparing to strike the ground with it, and everyone tenses in preparation.

Just before he can, however, a shot rings out in the barn. Ramiel curses loudly, and everyone’s heads turn to see Lucifer running over from the side of the barn, the Colt trained on the Prince. “Put it down, Ramiel!”

Sam’s head snaps back to the Prince, who’s shaking his hand out in clear pain, two fingers missing. The hand sparks and Ramiel cries out in agony, but it’s clear the shot isn’t killing him. The bullet took a chunk out of the lance, too, splintering a small section of it.

“Lucifer, what are you doing?!” Dean demands, pulling his own gun out.

“I shot him,” the devil replies with feigned innocence, “like you asked. Now  _trust_  me, just this once.” He keeps his finger on the trigger, not taking his eyes off Ramiel. The gun is a real threat while Ramiel is in the circle and can’t teleport away, but if he manages to put it out, Lucifer doesn’t have much leverage.

“ _Lucifer_ ,” the Prince growls, betrayal in his tone. “ _You_  stole from me?”

“No,” Lucifer tells him, not moving an inch, not even blinking. “One of them did, and they  _aren’t_  listening to me, so I need you to listen now, for once in your damned life. Put the Lance down,  _slowly_ , or the next bullet won’t just take a couple fingers.”

Ramiel looks around at all of them, rage boiling just under his skin. He looks like he’s not going to listen for a second, and he starts to raise the lance again.

_“Ramiel,”_  Lucifer warns, taking a step closer.

The prince hesitates, for just a second. Then, sensing the resolve in Lucifer’s tone, his shoulders slump slightly. “Which one of you stole from me?”

Before anyone can answer, Crowley cuts in. “The British Men of Letters. You have a problem, take it up with them. Now do like daddy dearest says and drop the Lance— _outside_  the circle.”

Moving slowly, Ramiel turns Michael’s Lance horizontally and lowers it to the edge of the circle, then tosses it just outside. It rolls a bit, until Crowley stops it with his foot and picks it up.

Once the lance is out of Ramiel’s hands, Lucifer uncocks the Colt and flips the safety on, relaxing. “See?” He looks pointedly at Sam, who doesn’t look very pleased with him. “Peaceful resolution. Ramiel,” he turns towards his estranged son, “we’re going to leave, with the Colt. The deal now is they let you keep your life, and you don’t come after us. Non-negotiable.”

“… why spare me?” Ramiel asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lucifer glances at Castiel sadly. “I would rather not lose any more family today.”

There’s a pause during which surprise crosses Ramiel’s face before he shakes his head again. “Humanity has made you a sentimental fool, father. I don’t like your terms, but it appears I have no choice but to agree to them.”

Lucifer nods, “the fire will die out eventually. Don’t say I never did anything for you.” And with that, he hands the magical gun to Dean, and crosses the room to Castiel, satisfied that this mess is over.

After a second, Sam and Dean follow him.

Castiel gags as Lucifer kneels down by him, black goo speckling his lips. “Please,” he begs, his wide eyes looking at them all. “I don’t want you to see this… just go.”

“We’re not leaving you,” Dean tells him stubbornly, gripping his friend’s shoulder. “You’re family, Cass.”

The angel’s breathing is laboured as he looks down, a mixture of fear and pain in his eyes. He opened his shirt at some point in an attempt to cool off, so they can all see the nasty wound across his chest.

Sam takes his hand silently, trying to provide Castiel what little comfort he can as the Lance’s magic eats away at him.

After a moment, Lucifer speaks up with surprise in his voice. “The wound… it’s not spreading…”

Castiel nods, his brows pulling together in confusion. “It hasn’t… gotten worse since Lucifer came back.”

Crowley speaks up then, having an epiphany. “The lance! Lucifer damaged it,” he looks at the artefact in his hand, muttering to himself, “the magic is in the runework…”

The demon’s eyes widen, and without hesitation he lifts the lance and snaps it over his leg, releasing a wave of magic through the room that  _everyone_  feels.

“Hey!” Ramiel shouts indignantly, going to the edge of the circle.

No one pays him any mind, more focused on Castiel, who begins to glow brightly as the magic ceases to eat away at him.

Lucifer backs away, covering his eyes from the brightness of it until it dies down. He blinks the spots from his eyes when it’s over, looking at Castiel incredulously, and taking in his now-completely-unharmed brother. “Cass! You’re—”

“Alive!” Sam finishes, not giving Castiel a chance to recover before he pulls the shell-shocked angel in for a tight bear-hug.

Crowley looks at the two halves of the lance in his hands before shrugging and letting them drop to the ground with a smile. “Sorry mate,” he tells Ramiel. “Tell you what, don’t be mad and I’ve got a staff with your name on it.”

The demon scowls, not looking impressed. “Lucifer’s?”

“The very one.”

“And what’s in it for you?”

“Well, the Winchesters owe me one, don’t they?”

“… fine. And I want those pieces.”

“All yours,” Crowley says, gesturing to the broken lance on the ground. “Whenever those flames die down, of course.”

No one pays them much mind as they talk, the humans being far more interested in their angel friend who is now  _blessedly alive_.

Lucifer smiles a little hysterically when the excitement finally wears off. “All this time, and it was that easy.”

Of course he’s  _thrilled_  that Castiel is staying in the land of the living, but… Lucifer can’t help but feel a pit of guilt pool in his gut when he thinks of all the lives of loved ones he lost, when the answer was right in front of him all along. How did Crowley figure out all he needed to do was  _break_  the damn thing, when  _he_  exhausted every resource available to him trying to cure it? Why did that never once occur to him?

“There was no way you could know,” Castiel pulls him out of his thoughts, using Sam to help pull himself back to his feet. “Let’s get out of here before things go wrong again.”

“Agreed,” Dean nods. “Alright team, move out.”

He, Sam, Castiel, and Lucifer start out towards the Impala, and Mary attempts to go out the other side with Wally, towards the truck. Dean stops her. “Not you. You’re coming with us.”

“My car—”

“We’ll drive you back to it,” Sam tells her coldly.

Lucifer sighs to himself, taking the initiative to help Castiel back to the impala while Sam and Dean sort out their business with their mother. Cass may be healed, but he’s not totally back on his feet yet. He’ll need a while longer to recover.

On his way out he waves to Wally, who waves back and doesn’t waste any time hurrying out to his car to get the hell out of there. He’s had more than enough crazy to last him a lifetime.

* * *

 

“Boys…” Mary says softly once they get out of the barn.

Sam doesn’t give her a chance to continue. “What were you thinking?”

“Those British  _dicks_  tried to kill Sam, they tried to kill  _all_  of us!” Dean balls his hands into fists at his sides, looking like he wants to punch something again. “Why the hell are you doing their dirty work?”

“I—”

“And  _why are you dragging us into it_?” Sam continues, as angry, maybe even  _angrier_  than Dean is. “You almost got Cass killed! Lucifer could have been kidnapped by Crowley! Those demons almost killed Wally!”

Mary stares at the ground, her body language screaming shame and guilt. “It was just supposed to be one simple demon… I staked this place out myself for a week. There was no indication… I didn’t know what to look for. I brought you boys because you’ve fought more demons than I ever have. I thought if I had you two, it would be a milk run. I’m sorry, I should have told you the truth.”

“Damn right you should have,” Dean growls, but seems mostly appeased by her apology. “You’re damn lucky Lucifer and Crowley were here. Without them, we might’ve all died.”

She nods, not looking up. “I know. I don’t think I could forgive myself if anyone had died…”

There’s a tense pause as Sam glares at his mom, and then his shoulders relax the tiniest bit. “What mattered is that nobody did. But mom, you should have told us about working with the Brits. They’re bad news- we need to know what you’re doing in case something happens to you.”

“He’s right,” Dean says begrudgingly. “Nobody died this time, but you better give that tea-sipping-bastard a piece of your mind if you plan to go back to him. Or better yet—a bullet to the brain. I wouldn’t rule out the chance that he set you up to get killed with this ‘milk run’ he tipped you off to.”

Mary shakes her head, finally looking up at her boys. “He had no idea. He told me to abandon the mission and get out of there when I texted him to ask about the yellow-eyed demon. That’s partially why I gave up the Colt to you all when Lucifer said it might get us all out alive. It’s not worth dying for.”

Sam nods, not looking totally convinced but also not looking as angry as he did just moments ago. “I wish you hadn’t gone behind our back with them. We’re not mad that you decided to work with them, mom, we’re mad that you lied to us about it. If you want to give them another chance, that’s up to you, but you can’t just leave us in the dark like that.”

“I know,” she says again, “I put you all at risk, I realise that now. From now on, no more secrets. I promise. I’ll keep you both updated on everything I do. I just…” she looks down again, “I was worried you would hate me for wanting to give them a chance after what they did.”

Sam and Dean share a look, and then Sam sighs, giving her a tired expression. “You’re our mom, we’ll  _always_  love you, no matter what. Just… don’t make us worried like this. No more secrets, okay? From any of us.” He glances over where Lucifer is helping Castiel into the impala as he says that.

Mary nods her agreement. “No more secrets.”

* * *

 

They’re almost ready to go. Lucifer is waiting by the Impala, having gotten Castiel seated in the back and repacked their things—including the Colt—into the trunk while Sam and Dean spoke with Mary.

The three Winchesters have gone to see Wally off, the boys deciding to let Mary go back to her own car with him after all. It’s already pretty crowded in the impala even with just the four of them.

Lucifer sits on the hood of the car, his arms crossed as he waits patiently for Sam and Dean to return. It’s a nice moment of peace for him after all the craziness he’s been through today.

It doesn’t last.

“You handled yourself pretty well,” Crowley comments smoothly as he appears by Lucifer’s side, “ _considering_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait again! It's been a busy summer for me.
> 
> Just a quick reminder, if you want updates when I post new chapters; if you want to show me any fanart you drew or see fanart other readers have made; or if you just want to yell at me and kick my but into gear for the next chapter, [THIS SERIES HAS A DISCORD SERVER FOR EXACTLY THAT!](https://discord.gg/JmwqFMc) <= Click that little link to join, everyone's welcome! 
> 
> ~~And *cough cough* Discord is so much more functional than tungle.hell *cough*~~


	22. Every Rose Has It's Thorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Though it's been a while now_  
>  _I can still feel so much pain_  
>  _Like a knife that cuts you the wound heals_  
>  _But the scar, that scar remains_  
>  \- Poison

**_“You handled yourself pretty well,” Crowley comments smoothly as he appears by Lucifer’s side, “considering.”_ **

**_As Lucifer scrambles off the hood to get away from him—the impala is warded, inside he’ll be safe—Crowley laughs. He doesn’t chase after the former angel, just piping up in an annoying sing-song voice, “Luci and Dean, sitting in a tree… oh, this is_ ** **_rich_ ** **_.”_ **

It’s quiet inside the Impala. Castiel is asleep next to Lucifer in the back, and Sam and Dean maintain a tense silence in the front seats. Lucifer and the Winchesters all have a lot on their minds—Dean hasn’t even put on any music.

The boys, of course, are still concerned about their mother. They were arguing quietly to themselves about her involvement with the men of letters at the beginning of the drive, but stopped when Lucifer reminded them that Castiel was asleep.

Lucifer, for his part, has been entirely mute except for that reminder. For the past 15 minutes or so, he’s stayed still as stone, leaning against his door with his temple pressed against the window. He can tell Sam still isn’t pleased with him for abusing a loophole and circumventing the human’s orders entirely. Thankfully, Sam hasn’t brought it up or given him flack for it—yet.

Crowley was gone before the Winchesters got back from their talk with their mother. Lucifer didn’t feel the need to tell them about the ‘conversation’ he had with the demon—if you can count Crowley talking  _at_ Lucifer while the latter struggles just to keep his wits about him a  _conversation._

Still… Even though the demon is long gone, Lucifer can’t seem to get the things he said out of his head.

**_“Relax, kitten,” the demon_ ** **_sighs, putting his hands up. “I’ve decided to cease this cat-and-mouse game. You see, I just had two goals when I escaped your capture.” He holds one finger up, “one; I want you dead. Two; before that, I want you to suffer worse than I did.”_ **

_Just_ _two goal_ _s_ , Lucifer thinks bitterly to himself.  _That’s all_. And after all he did to get away from the King… it turns out he indirectly did Crowley’s job for him.

Lucifer rubs the tattoo with Sam’s name on his arm, for the first time wishing he could just rub the lettering off and erase it all. Crowley is right, he signed his own death warrant. The demon wanted him dead? Well now he doesn’t even have to work for it, Lucifer will die eventually. Whether he dies as a human or as an angelic ‘guardian’, his days are numbered.

**_“Their slave.”_ **

A shudder runs through him at that reminder, causing him to pull his jacket tighter around himself. It’s not even cold in the car, yet Lucifer has been trembling since before they left the dilapidated farm.

Almost another twenty minutes pass before someone breaks the silence. By this point, any sound at all is so jarring that Dean’s voice causes Lucifer to jump. He hates himself for it.

**_“Coward— scaredy-cat—”_ **

“Hey Luce, are you doing okay? Did Crowley pull anything? Things were kinda rushed, we didn’t really get a chance to—”

“No. And I’m fine,” Lucifer lies quickly. “I’m just thinking.”

“About?” Dean probes, shooting a glance over his shoulder at the blond before moving his eyes back to the road.

**_“You’ll figure it out soon enough— Dean_ ** **_doesn’t return your feelings.” Crowley laughs, it’s a strangely empty sound. “He’s nice to you when you’re useful, but the second you mess up? He’ll stomp on your heart and throw you away. Loving him will only make you miserable, and I don’t even have to l_ ** **_ift a finger…”_ **

About  _Crowley_. About all the things the demon king said to him, all the doubts he planted in Lucifer’s mind. He wishes he could stop, but the words echo around his head, filling his skull until it feels like there’s no room left for anything else.

“Ramiel,” he lies again, guilt tinging his voice. “I haven’t seen him since my imprisonment. It’s been a long time.”

“Oh,” Dean says softly, the answer seeming to satisfy him. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.” Lucifer answers honestly this time.

He should probably try to continue the conversation somehow, ask about Mary, Wally,  _anything_ … but he can’t bring himself to. For the moment, all he wants is  _silence_ , so he can sort through…  _everything._

“Maybe later,” he finally amends, but doesn’t offer to continue the conversation in any way.

Crowley can’t be right, can he? Dean doesn’t have to be nice, he has the binding to make Lucifer cooperate if he needs it.

**_“According to dear Ramiel, you already signed your own death warrant, yes?”_ **

**_Lucifer blinke_ ** **_d, only not answering Crowley because he’s far too confused. What did he mean?_ **

**_“I’m talking about binding yourself to the Winchesters.”_ **

**_Lucifer felt his gut drop. How did Crowley find out? According to_ ** **_Ramiel_ ** **_? What else did the Prince say?_ **

**_His face seemed to be confirmation enough for Crowley. “Good. Step one, check. As for two…”_ **

Lucifer shakes himself out of the memory, sinking further down in his seat. Ramiel told Crowley, but he didn’t find out on his own.

**_“Oh, by the way,” Crowley drawled off-handedly as he walked away, “Ramiel said Asmodeus is keeping an eye on you. Watch your back, I can’t have you dying too soon on me now.”_ **

_Asmodeus_. Lucifer cringes just at the memory of what he did to his former favourite son.

The second Prince of Hell betrayed him, disobeyed his direct orders to leave the shedim alone. Asmodeus’s punishment was severe. But… It isn’t like how his father punished him without an explanation. Lucifer  _told_  Asmodeus what the Shedim are,  _why_  they can’t be released… and the Prince defied him anyways.

His pride got the better of him— despite Lucifer’s warnings, he thought  _he_ could control them. It took nearly all Lucifer’s might to seal the few that escaped back up, and once he had…

He was  _angry_.

He didn’t give Asmodeus a chance to make amends. The only mercy he showed the Demon Prince was letting him flee to exile with his life. Lucifer struck him a blow that would scar him eternally, marking him and marking every vessel he ever took. And then he cast Asmodeus out, rejected from hell and feared on earth, to walk alone for eternity.

And now that very son he exiled is watching him; he knows Lucifer’s predicament, and he will almost certainly take advantage of it if he gets the chance.

Crowley could just be yanking his chain… but Lucifer would rather not gamble on the real possibility that he  _isn’t_.

“Lucifer?”

This time it’s Sam’s voice that pulls him from his thoughts. Lucifer looks back up to see the larger of the two Winchesters turned around to look at him.

“Hey, I’m sorry about… ordering you, and y’know—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lucifer brushes Sam off, relieved that’s all he’s getting Lucifer’s attention for. “You were worried about Cass—no harm no foul.”

Sam shakes his head, but appears relieved. “Still, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, you were only helping.” He pauses, concern pulling his brows together, “You’ve been really quiet, are you  _sure_  everything is okay? You know we don’t ever…  _want_ to use your bond like that, right?”

Oh, if only that’s all this is about. He nods his understanding, taking his hand off of his arm when he realises how that looks. His skin under the Enochian lettering has turned red where he was absently rubbing it.

He wishes the problem were that simple. “It’s not that,” he assures Sam. “And again, I’m alright. I’m just letting Castiel get some rest; I’m sure he needs it.”

That much is true—Lucifer remembers recovering after his own wound from the lance took its course. Angels, as a rule, do not  _need_  sleep. But after that ordeal, Lucifer slept for over a week. Not by choice—he would rather have kept searching for a cure, but at some point he could no longer keep going, and he collapsed of exhaustion among a graveyard of empty vessels—vessels which once held his friends.

He doubts he even  _can_  wake Castiel up at the moment… but Sam and Dean don’t know that.

After a second, he forces a smile to his face, trying to get Sam off his back. “Apology accepted, of course.” He almost forgot to say it—he so rarely ever receives apologies.

Sam reluctantly accepts his answer, glancing at Castiel when Lucifer mentions him. The reminder that Castiel needs his sleep turns out to be enough to get Sam to back down, and Lucifer releases a soft sigh when the human nods and turns back around with a soft “Okay.”

It’s the little things like this that make Crowley’s claims seem unrealistic. The things like Dean asking after his well-being, and Sam apologising for his thoughtless actions without prompting.

He’d dismiss Crowley’s claim that he has no chance with Dean entirely if it weren’t for one, small sentence. One little detail of Crowley’s speech that made all the difference.

**_“You think you’re the first monster to fall for those big green eyes?”_ **

It makes sense; Crowley claimed the Winchesters aren’t his friends, but Lucifer was watching him like a hawk as he called them ‘allies’ and ‘people he can use’. He could see that while he told Ramiel the truth, Crowley so  _desperately_ wishes that wasn’t the case.

 _He loved Dean too_.

Maybe he still does.

If Crowley didn’t stand a chance—the  _King_ of Hell, their friend and ally,  _powerful_ … what chance does Lucifer have with Dean?

Maybe he’s just been deluding himself all this time, thinking Dean cared when really Lucifer has just become so desperate for affection, for  _kindness_  that he’s seeing signs where there are none.

Maybe Crowley is right.

The car continues to rumble down the road, passing farmland and structures in varying degrees of decay. Inside, Lucifer silently spirals, unable to drag himself out of his feedback loop of self-doubt and depression.

 

* * *

 

“I’m worried about him.” Dean tells Sam, not taking his eyes off the road. They have another few hours to go before they reach the bunker and they should  _really_  stop at a motel to rest, but Dean wants to just drive through the night and get home sooner rather than later.

Lucifer fell asleep about an hour ago—Castiel fell over onto him and Lucifer didn’t have the heart to push him back to the other side. Now they’re both slumped towards Lucifer’s door, totally unconscious.

“Lucifer?” Sam clarifies, not that he really needed to. At Dean’s nod, he glances back at the former angel, sighing to himself. “Honestly, I am too. The last time he was this quiet, he just about had a nervous breakdown.”

Dean nods, his brow creasing in worry.

After a while, Sam slumps down in his seat a bit. “I feel like a dick for giving him that order. I wasn’t thinking.”

Dean side-eyes his brother briefly. “I’m not gonna tell you it’s okay, Sammy. But I get it, you were freaked about Cass. Lucifer understands, and like he said, no harm done. This time.”

The other Winchester is quiet for a while, not arguing with Dean on the point. He didn’t even think about it—Cass was dying, and the only thing that registered is  _it’s Ramiel’s fault_. He didn’t consider Lucifer’s feeling, the fact that Ramiel is kinda like a son to him— _and he_ _told_ _Sam that_. He lost his temper… that’s always been such a glaring problem of his.

It’s not usually such a big deal, but this time he took it out on someone who had no choice but to take it. Luckily, Lucifer found a loophole… but Sam wonders if maybe he shouldn’t have been given the means to command Lucifer in the first place. Not when he  _abused_  that power so horribly.

He won’t ever give Lucifer an order again. He won’t make that mistake again. Unless Lucifer is going to hurt someone… Sam will make the conscious effort to not take his free will away ever again.

As much as he still resents Lucifer…  _that_  is just wrong.

Dean finally breaks the silence again, patting his brother’s shoulder without looking away from the road. “In any case, I don’t think that’s what’s eating at him. If I had to guess… Seeing Crowley again—even if he didn’t do anything, I think—really freaked him out. I wish he’d just talk to me…” his grip on the steering wheel tightens in frustration—not  _at_  Lucifer, of course. He’s the victim here, Dean won’t help anything by giving him shit for not wanting to talk.

He’s just frustrated with this whole situation. He wishes there was an easy solution, a magical switch he can just flip and make Lucifer not scared anymore. But as he’s realizing more and more the longer they keep Lucifer around, the former angel is a  _person_  just like him and Sam. There wasn’t an easy solution when he got out of Hell, or when Sam got out of the cage, so there’s not gonna be an easy solution for Lucifer either. They just… have to make it work until he’s ready to open up.

“Yeah…” Sam brings him back to the conversation, sighing softly. “You’re probably right. You know, he might open up if it’s just you asking him. I don’t think he wants to talk to me after… you know…” Sam trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. When he starts back up, there’s clear curiosity in his tone. “You two have gotten pretty close lately, huh?”

Dean takes his eyes off the road for a second, shooting Sam a slightly worried look.  _He doesn’t know, right? He_ _can’t_ _know._  He takes a second to judge the other’s expression before he relaxes, deciding that Sam is probably just referring to their friendship— _not that Lucifer is interested in him anyways… it’s wrong to even_ _think_ _about him that way, he’s a rape victim for Christ’s sake. Dating is probably the_ _furthest thing from his mind._

The hunter decides to play it cool, being as honest as he can without giving anything away. “Eh, kinda. He’s pretty easy to get along with, all things considered.” He pauses, and then concedes. “You might be right though. I’ll try asking him alone. Or maybe he’ll talk to Cass, they’ve gotten pretty close too.”

_And Cass didn’t accidentally call him a monster just a couple days ago._

Sam nods, seeming almost… disappointed? By Dean’s answer. “Let me know how that goes, I guess.”

There’s another long pause during which Dean finally puts some music on, turning the volume as low as it’ll go while still being audible.

Finally, Dean finds a station he’s happy with and leaves the radio alone. “You seemed pretty torn up about Cass, are you okay Sammy?”

“Yeah,” Sam answers a bit too quickly. “I’m just glad he’s okay now. It’s just… we  _just_  got Cass back, I didn’t wanna lose him again.”

Dean gives his brother a sympathetic nod. “I get it. I probably woulda deep-fried Ramiel myself if Crowley hadn’t saved Cass. I think Lucifer made the right call though; we don’t wanna piss off his other kids.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “I still find it hard to believe there are  _four_  yellow-eyed demons. One was bad enough…”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Dean agrees, sighing to himself. “I just hope Lucifer’s bet pays off. Hopefully they’ll just keep sticking to their own business.”

“Yeah,” the younger agrees, attempting to stretch his legs a bit in the cramped seat. “But you heard what Ramiel said about Asmodeus, right? If one of them has their eye on Lucifer, maybe we need to be ready for a fight.”

“Well,” Dean gestures to the back of the car. “We have the Colt. He hasn’t gone after us yet, and he’d have to be pretty stupid to attack us now.”

Sam nods but doesn’t answer Dean, looking skeptic.

“Who?” Comes a quiet voice from the back and the Winchesters both turn to see Castiel rubbing his eyes as he wakes up.

“Asmodeus,” Dean answers, relaxing when he sees Lucifer is still out cold. “You feeling better, buddy?”

“Marginally,” the angel groans a bit as he stretches. “I fell asleep?” 

Sam nods, watching the angel with clear worry in his eyes. “You’ve been out for a few hours. Lucifer said it’s normal—that Lance really does a number on you guys.”

“Indeed.” Castiel carefully extricates himself from Lucifer’s side, trying not to wake the other up. “I feel fine now. Is he alright?” The angel gestures to his brother, keeping his tone quiet. “I think I remember seeing Crowley again… but I may have been dreaming.”

Sam and Dean share a look, and then Dean presses for more information. “He wasn’t here when we got back from talking to mom… when do you think you saw him?”

Castiel is quiet for a moment, clearly trying to remember. “A little after you left I think. Lucifer was sitting on the hood. But I woke up when he got in the car and Crowley was nowhere to be seen, so I may have just imagined it.”

The boys are silent for a bit, considering what he said.

“I don’t know…” Sam starts at the same time as Dean goes, “That son of a  _bitch_.”

Sam gestures for Dean to speak and he does. “I don’t think you imagined that, Cass. It would explain why Lucifer’s being…” he searches briefly for the right word, “evasive. He seemed okay when he came back to help with Ramiel but Crowley must have… said or done something while we were with mom.” He glares at the road, frustrated with himself for not keeping a closer eye on Lucifer,  _especially_  after Crowley nabbed him right from under their noses. “Fuck… Cass, you should ask him about what you saw when the two of us aren’t around. He might trust you more.”

The angel meets Dean’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, then shoots Sam a glance. “… maybe, but I think he might be more open if the question came from you, Dean. I believe that he considers you a closer friend than me.”

He doesn’t want to outright disagree with Cass, because then he’d have to admit how he fucked up… but he can’t be the one to ask Lucifer. He just has a feeling that it won’t work if he tries to get Lucifer to talk to him.

The former archangel seemed almost…  _cold_  to him earlier. He cut Dean off, gave him only short, clipped answers… but he didn’t give Sam the same treatment. It was kind of unnerving, really. Dean decides he really doesn’t like being at odds with Lucifer when he doesn’t even know what he did wrong. How does Sam deal with it so well?

‘Well’ being a relative term.

“… What makes both of you say that?” Dean finally asks while his shoulders slump slightly.

“You’re kidding, right?” Sam snorts. Seeing the look that crosses Dean’s face, he sobers up slightly. “Just trust me on this, Dean. Lucifer likes you more than he likes Cass. Or me, not that I’m really even a contestant.”

That gets a soft snort from Dean. “Pf, yeah. No offense.”

“Believe me, none taken.” Sam feels bad about today but that doesn’t mean he likes Lucifer, nor does he need the other to like him. They’re still working on the whole ‘tolerating each other’ problem.

Lucifer stirs in the back, seeming to realise in his sleep that he no longer has someone leaning against him. They all hold their breath for a second so as not to wake him up and then he settles back down, hugging himself a little tighter.

When the moment passes, Dean sighs to himself. “Fine. I’ll try talking to him. And when that doesn’t work, Cass can take a shot.”

Said angel isn’t listening. Castiel examines Lucifer in his sleep, having never seen Lucifer look anything but peaceful while unconscious before. He was under the impression that sleep was one of the few reprieves Lucifer ever got from the memories that seem to haunt his waking hours.

But now… Lucifers brows are creased in something between concentration and worry, like he’s thinking very hard about something. His breathing is still slow but not even like it would be if he was calm. His eyes move quickly under his eyelids, darting from place to place like he’s surrounded and looking for a way out.

It’s clear that while Lucifer may not be having an all-out nightmare, his dream isn’t pleasant. Odd, the older angel never complained of nightmares to Castiel.

“Cass?” Sam interjects, realising the angel wasn’t paying attention.

Castiel looks up with a ‘hm?’ And when he sees the looks they’re giving him, he gestures to his brother. “He seemed upset. Perhaps I should wake him up?”

Dean shakes his head, stopping the angel nonverbally. “No point in denying him some sleep. He’s exhausted most of the time because of his nightmares. Just wake him up if it looks like he really needs it.”

“… He never mentioned nightmares to me,” the younger angel says, feeling a little hurt that Lucifer never said anything to him. He could have helped, he has more than enough mojo to ensure a dreamless sleep every now and then.

“He never said it to me in so many words,” Dean tells his friend reassuringly. “He just wakes up exhausted all the time, and when I ask he gets evasive about it… I just put two and two together. He seems to sleep better when one of us is nearby though, he must be pretty freaked out if he’s having a bad dream with all three of us here.” Dean’s mostly rambling to himself by the time he finishes, shooting Lucifer a worried look in the mirror.

Sam’s the one who finally speaks up in the worried silence following Dean’s observation. “… Just let him sleep for now, Cass. God knows he  _needs_  it after the day we’ve had.”

The angel nods and, though he’s still weak from the lance, he decides to spare a fraction of his grace to soothe Lucifer’s mind, ensuring a dreamless sleep for another few hours.

Lucifer has a few things to answer when he wakes up, the least Castiel can do is make sure he’s rested for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update less than a month after the last one? Wow it must be a miracle!
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!


	23. Heaven is a Place on Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When I feel alone_   
>  _I reach for you_   
>  _And you bring me home_   
>  _When I'm lost at sea_   
>  _I hear your voice_   
>  _And it carries me_
> 
> _In this world we're just beginning_   
>  _To understand the miracle of living_   
>  _Baby I was afraid before_   
>  _But I'm not afraid anymore_
> 
> _Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?_  
>  _Ooh heaven is a place on earth_  
>  _They say in heaven love comes first_  
>  _We'll make heaven a place on earth_  
>  _Ooh heaven is a place on earth_  
>  — Belinda Carlisle

Lucifer wakes up a little bit before they reach the bunker. He’s drowsy and disoriented from the unplanned nap but that doesn’t mean Dean manages to pry anything useful out of him before they pull into the hangar. Despite Dean’s best efforts to question him without being  _ too _ pushy, Lucifer remains evasive and stubbornly tight-lipped. 

As soon as they park the Impala, Lucifer claims he could use some more sleep and flees for his room.

“Hey,” Sam tries to stop the archangel, “your hand…” He trails off as Lucifer continues out of the hangar without so much as a look back.

It’s not like anyone can argue that he  _ doesn’t _ need more sleep. Even after his nap in the car he looks more exhausted than he did the day he arrived at the bunker.

The rest let it go without much protest. They’re all too tired to deal with this before the morning. Lucifer will be fine for another six hours. Y’know.  _ Probably _ .

After a hot pocket and a stiff beer, Dean decides to check on him—mostly to make sure he’s doing okay, but also to lock his door for the night per their arrangement. He arrives at his friend’s door only to find Lucifer has already locked himself inside—he must’ve turned the lock with the door open and then gone inside and pulled it shut.

When Dean carefully unlocks Lucifer’s door to peek inside and see if he’s awake, he finds the former angel curled up with his back to the door under all his blankets.

He seems too still to actually be asleep, like he’s holding his breath… but Dean can take a hint. He knows when someone doesn’t want to talk to him, so he leaves the blond alone, wishing him a soft goodnight as he quietly closes the door and locks it again.

Maybe Lucifer will feel more open in the morning. Dean will try asking him then, but he doesn’t want to push the guy too hard. He already feels bad enough about everything that happened to Lucifer with his mom and during the hunt. The least his friend deserves is a little break from being hounded and questioned.

On his way back to his room he comes across Castiel, who’s carrying the tablet Sam uses to document any lore they learn out in the field. “Hey man.”

“Dean,” the angel greets him. “Lucifer is asleep?”

“Yep.” Dean lies, not wanting to worry him. “Out like a light. You’ll stick around in the morning to try talking to him, yeah? I’m gonna wanna sleep in, so if you could wake him up…”

Castiel nods while he glances past Dean to Sam’s door. “Of course. I’ll wake him up at…?”

“We’re usually up around seven, nine at the latest.”

“Seven, then. Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Cass.”

The angel passes him with a quiet smile, heading to Sam’s room and walking inside without bothering to knock. Huh. They both slept a bit in the car, they must’ve decided to stay up a while longer and work on updating their lore database.

Nerds. He’s surrounded by nerds.

 

* * *

 

Castiel holds the tablet out to Sam as he enters his room, but Sam doesn’t take it. Instead, the hunter pulls Castiel into possibly the tightest hug he’s ever received. It takes him a moment to recover from the surprise, but then he melts into the embrace.

“What’s this for?” He asks after a second, resting his palms gently against Sam’s back after tossing the tablet onto the bed.

The question makes Sam pull back just enough to give him an incredulous look. “You almost  _ died _ , Cass.”

“I have died before,” the angel points out softly, looking away and resting his head on Sam’s broad chest. “It wouldn’t be anything new.”

“Yeah, and it tore Dean and I up every single time you did. Just ‘cause you’ve died and come back before doesn’t mean you’re allowed to now,” Sam says firmly, holding Castiel closer.

“ _ Allowed _ ?” The angel asks with an amused note in his voice.

“You know what I mean. You really scared me.”

“I know…” he responds solemnly. “But, you scared me too. When I felt like I was dying and you refused to leave me… I felt like I failed you. Like you were all going to die for nothing.”

“You’re _not_ nothing, Cass.” Sam pulls away from him, giving him an incredulous look. “And you didn’t _fail_ us. You got hurt, you had no idea what we were going up against, that is _not_ your fault _._ ”

Castiel doesn’t look too convinced. “But there was nothing that I… could  _ do _ . I just watched while the rest of you saved me. While Lucifer—who was in  _ no _ condition to be fighting—almost single-handedly stopped Ramiel. I couldn’t even convince any of you to save yourselves. I… understand why you stayed, and I appreciate it  _ greatly _ but,” Castiel can’t meet Sam’s eyes, “you scared me. I kept thinking, ‘I’m going to die and I’m going to watch everyone I love die in front of me and there’s nothing I can do’… please,  _ please  _ promise me that next time—if there  _ is  _ a next time—you’ll run.”

Sam looks like he’s going to protest so just before he can, Castiel darts up to kiss him. It’s a desperate act, something Castiel definitely didn’t put much thought into before doing. When he pulls back, both of their faces are flushed. “Sam… I hope there never is a next time, but what we do is dangerous. And  _ important _ . I know I might die. I know that…” he hesitates before continuing, as if he doesn’t like what he’s going to say but he  _ knows  _ he has to say it. “That  _ you _ might die. Please promise me you won’t throw your life away for mine. We might not be so lucky the next time something like that happens and I  _ have  _ to know that even if I’m gone, you and Dean will still be around to keep the world turning.”

Sam still doesn’t look happy with Castiel’s request, and when Castiel doesn’t cut him off again he speaks his mind. “Cass, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing if it was one of us. The three of us… and Lucifer now, too… we’re a family. You know we’d take you over the world any day of the week, right? If we die, we do it together. Guns blazing.”

“But you didn’t  _ have  _ to, the world  _ needs you— _ ”

“The world needs  _ you _ too,” Sam cuts him off insistently, grabbing one of his forearms. “But screw the world, Cass. We—  _ I  _ need you.”

“Sam…” a little bit of the worry leaves Castiel’s features as his expression softens. “I suppose I’ll just have to try my best not to die again.”

That earns a soft snort from the other man. “You better.”

“You too,” the angel says with a small smile. “ _ No one  _ is  _ ‘ _ allowed’ to die.”

“Watch it,” Sam warns with a roll of his eyes. “When did you get to be such a smartass?”

“Dean and Lucifer are bad influences,” Castiel says without missing a beat.

The hunter rolls his eyes again, but doesn’t doubt it. His brother and Lucifer have become notorious for their near-constant ‘banter’. Sam would rather call it  _ bickering _ . Childish bickering at that.

“Hey, it’s been a rough day and you didn’t sleep for very long,” Sam changes the subject, rubbing Castiel’s shoulder. “You should get some more rest. We both should, honestly. We can have Lucifer help us with the lore update in the morning.”

Castiel briefly wonders if Sam asking him to get the tablet was just an excuse to get him alone in his room and decides he doesn’t really care either way. “You’re right, my grace is still very worn out. Goodnight, Sam.”

He goes for a quick kiss but Sam stops him with the hand still on his shoulder. “You can… sleep here if you want,” Sam suggests almost  _ shyly _ . “It’s a big bed.” And Castiel’s ‘room’ is still more or less a guest room. It doesn’t feel like anyone lives there since he doesn’t really have any personal belongings or clothes and he doesn’t ever sleep in the bed.

But even if Castiel’s room did look like it belonged to him… Sam would still ask him to sleep here tonight. He almost lost him today… now he just really wants to be near Castiel. To know he’s alive and—at least for now—he’s not going anywhere.

There’s very little hesitation before Castiel nods, giving Sam the warmest smile he’s ever seen on the angel’s face. “I’d like that,” he says, and this time Sam doesn’t stop him when he goes to give him a soft kiss on the cheek.

The hunter is practically beaming at him when he pulls away. It seems silly now that they never admitted their feelings sooner; Castiel could have spent all of his sleep-free nights in Sam’s room, watching over him.

Better late than never, though.

“There’s just… one thing,” and now it’s Castiel’s turn to be nervous. “I don’t have sleeping clothes. Or really,  _ any _ other clothes…”

“Oh,” Sam doesn’t seem to think this is a problem at all. In fact, if he  _ could _ look any happier, he probably would. “Yeah, you can just borrow one of my shirts, they’re in the closet, go pick one out.”

With a nod, Castiel goes to where he pointed. Sam disappears into the bathroom with some clothes he pulled out from under his pillow and tells Castiel he’s going to shower, get changed, and brush his teeth.

While he’s gone, Castiel struggles to find a shirt that seems appropriate. In the end, he settles on a dark red t-shirt in the back of the closet that looks fairly old and doesn’t seem as large as some of the other clothes. Across the front in slightly faded white block lettering, it reads ‘Stanford’.

It’s actually somewhat of a relief to pull off all the layers of clothing he wears. He may not sweat, but that doesn’t mean the excess warmth is  _ comfortable _ .

By the time Sam come back out of the bathroom, Castiel is in just the tee and his boxers—the shirt is still a bit too big for him and hangs down low enough to keep him decent. He’s folding his clothes up neatly and putting them on top of the dresser when he hears Sam come back.

When he turns around, there’s a strange look on Sam’s face, making him worry that he did something wrong. “Should I pick another shirt…?”

It takes Sam a second to recover. “No, uh. That one is fine.” The smile returns to his face, “You look good.”

Castiel feels himself blush—more from the way Sam’s looking at him now than from the compliment. “You too, you know.” He’s seen Sam in his sleep shirt and sweatpants probably a hundred times by now, but it still never ceases to make his heartbeat speed up.

“I know,” he responds cheekily, making another blush bloom on Castiel’s cheeks. Who knew the usually stoic angel could be so…  _ cute _ ?

He only entertains that thought for a second before noticing the rings forming under Castiel’s eyes and the tenseness of his shoulders. It was hidden better when he was wearing a full suit and trench coat, but under the slightly oversized shirt he can’t hide it as well—Castiel is  _ exhausted _ . He generally looks tired, it’s just a trait of his vessel but now? It’s clear he’s totally spent. The poor guy definitely needs some sleep after the toll Michael’s Lance took on him.

So Sam stops eyeing his… boyfriend? 

… Can they really call each other that yet? All they’ve done is kiss, really…

… His  _ as yet  _ undefined semi-romantic friend—they’ll have to work on that. Regardless, he stops eyeing him for a moment and walks over to the bed to pull the sheets back and put the tablet onto the nightstand.

He has to stifle a yawn as he gestures for Cass to sit down. “I don’t know about you,” he  _ does _ , “but I’m beat. I’m gonna sleep in, unless you need the alarm set for anything?”

“Just to wake Lucifer up at seven,” the yawn must’ve been contagious, because Castiel’s doing it too now. “I will likely wake up naturally before then, but could you set it anyways to remind me?”

“Sure thing,” Sam nods, covering his mouth as he starts to yawn again. He flips the light off and his ceiling fan on before heading back to his bed. It doesn’t take him long to set the alarm for Cass and soon he’s under the covers, getting comfortable.

Castiel follows suit, laying down next to Sam and leaving as little space between them as possible without actually touching. Sam gives a soft huff and then reaches over to lace his fingers through Castiel’s. “Can I try something?”

“Of course,” Castiel can hear his heart beating, is that normal?

“Okay,” the smile in Sam’s voice is evident. “Just say something if you’re uncomfortable.”

And with that, the hunter adjusts himself to lay on his side, and he pulls Castiel back towards him until his chest is pressed totally against the angel’s back. He keeps their fingers laced together, the back of Castiel’s hand in Sam’s larger palm and now both pressed to Castiel’s heart. His angel is warm.

He feels Castiel shift a bit to get more comfortable, but after a second he’s leaning back against him, settled comfortably against the much taller man’s body.

“Goodnight, Sam.”

“G’night, Cass.”   
  


 

* * *

 

 

“ _ Et ego conteram vincula mea, et hoc cum potestate plenus est dimisit in gloriam …” _

_ …  _

**_Whoosh-BOOM._ **

“Blast it!”

She waits a few moments for the dangerous, electric-feeling of a spell gone wrong to fade from the air before Rowena stands up from where she was formerly cowering behind an up-ended table she’d set up for this exact purpose.

She’s tried hundreds of different spells using this god-forsaken stuff and  _ nothing _ works. It always just sits there in the middle of her spell bowl, untouched by whatever else the spell did,  _ mocking her. _

Archangel grace is… not an easy ingredient to use properly. She’s tried consuming small amounts of it, but even just a drop of the stuff is more than her body can withstand.

It’s a good thing she can come back from the dead.

Unpleasant, though.

“What is this bloody stuff even  _ useful _ for?” She gripes to herself as she marches over to where the vial of grace is sitting,  _ completely _ unmarked even though it’s surrounded by blast marks and the broken pieces of Rowena’s 8th ceramic bowl  _ today _ . It feels like the devil is laughing at her.

She’s calling it a day. Firstly because she’s tired, and secondly because she’s out of bowls. She knows there  _ has _ to be some way to use this stuff… but how? Clearly, experimenting isn’t the right answer.

Maybe she just simply doesn’t have enough power? If she could get her hands on the Black Grimoire… she knows one page that could help her out greatly.

But unfortunately, that book was very jealously protected by the Celtic druids. Tch. The  _ Loughlins _ .

Gideon, Boyd, and  _ Catriona _ …

Greedy Leprechauns, the lot of them. She doesn’t mourn their deaths, but she does regret not ever finding out where they squirrelled away their magicks before they died out like all the other witches did when the hunters and Men of Letters rose to power in America.

Speaking of… there’s a possibility that the Grimoire is  _ there _ , in one of the Men of Letters’ rabbit holes. She does know a guy…

She’ll have to seek Arthur Ketch out when she has the chance to. It’s slim, but the Grimoire might have been collected by them and sent back to Ireland for study. There’s a more real possibility that it’s in one of the American bases, and if that’s the case then she’s probably shit out of luck. She has it on good authority—her son’s—that the only ones with a key and the locations to all of those bases are currently getting all… ‘buddy _-_ buddy’ with _Lucifer._

Which means they likely won’t give her the time of day.

She doesn’t need them anyways.

No, she just needs to track Ketch down and call in that favour he owes her. If he doesn’t have it already, he can help her  _ get  _ it.

Rowena tucks the vial of grace into her jacket pocket with a sigh and turns to leave the borrowed house. Another day, another rich old guy coming home to find his kitchen in shambles. Thankfully  _ she _ gets to spend the night stress-free in a luxurious hotel room; courtesy of the cash she found in his safe.

Who ever said being a witch isn’t all fun and games?

  
  


* * *

 

 

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. _

“Ugh…”

_ Beep. Beep. _

“Yeah, yeah…” Sam blinks awake at the sound of his alarm, groping blindly towards the clock on his nightstand to hit the snooze button.

_ Bee—click. _

He doesn’t let go of the angel in his arms, even when Castiel makes a move to get out of bed. “Sam…”

“I know,” he sighs tiredly, nuzzling his angel’s neck. “Five more minutes. I don’t wanna move.” Castiel is just so… comfortable and warm against him. And for once he didn’t have a  _ single _ bad dream. Sam wants  _ every _ morning to be just like this.

The angel sighs softly but doesn’t argue, relaxing into the bed and Sam’s embrace again. Five minutes won’t hurt and he must admit this is… pleasant. Very pleasant.

Instead of trying to get up again he takes this time to—since he’s now fully rested and awake—examine Sam’s room more closely. He’s been in it only a handful of times before, and each time he was a  _ bit _ more focused on something other than Sam’s decorating habits.

There’s not much on the walls, that’s for sure. Sam doesn’t have the affinity for posters and hanging guns that Dean has. His decorations—on the half of his room that Castiel can see, at least—are more subtle. He has a mug on his nightstand with the same word on it as the one on the shirt Castiel is currently wearing. It’s filled with pencils and pens, all collecting dust. There aren’t any picture frames that Castiel can see, but above his dresser a few photos are pinned to the wall of him and Dean, and the both of them with other people.

Castiel’s heart aches a bit when he sees one he recognises; the photo he took with them back before the apocalypse. Sam, Dean, Jo, Ellen, Bobby, and himself… all lined up and smiling for the camera. The picture is charred in one of the bottom corners and it’s faded with age… but that’s the first picture Castiel ever took with anyone. He’d recognise it anywhere.

After seeing the photo, Castiel closes his eyes. He was a very different person back then. He was lost, he had given up on a cause he’d been ordered to believe in his whole existence… because he found a new, more worthy cause in helping the Winchesters save the world. He couldn’t quite consider them family back then though, and he had turned his back on the rest of his family so he was alone. And that picture… that was the first time in a very long time that he hadn’t felt totally alone. It was the first time he felt there was somewhere he belonged;  _ with _ these people.

It’s a bittersweet memory. As cheerful as they all were the night before that mission, it didn’t last. Ellen, Jo… they died. And Bobby is dead too, now, though that didn’t happen for a few more years. And even  _ with _ their sacrifice, that mission failed. He’s somewhat glad they  _ did _ fail now, because if they had succeeded Lucifer would be dead instead of their newest friend and addition to the team.

Lucifer isn’t the one that killed Ellen and Jo, after all. Meg and her Hellhounds did that in her efforts to protect a being she saw as her father. They forgave Meg later on, too. She was even part of the team for a while and Cass thinks if Crowley hadn’t killed her, he might’ve had a chance at a real relationship with her. She was everything he wasn’t… and he’d be lying if he says he didn’t find that enticing.

In contrast, Sam is similar to him in many ways. They’ve both… made awful, horrible mistakes in their lives. Mistakes that ended in tragedy for the ones they love and sometimes many  _ more _ people as well. They’ve both carried that guilt with them  _ long _ after they did all they could to remedy the mistakes they’ve made. They both  _ still _ carry that weight with them.

Where Castiel liked Meg because she understood the things he couldn’t… Castiel loves Sam because  _ he _ understands the things Castiel can’t convey. The things he feels that others can’t understand. Sam knows how he feels and he  _ gets  _ it. He gets it when Castiel struggles to make even some simple decisions, when he second-guesses himself over just about anything, when he jumps to sacrifice himself for them… and just like he would never let Sam run to his death on his account, Sam refused to leave him behind yesterday.

He was upset that Sam chose to ignore his pleas to run but… he understands why now, and admittedly, he would do the same thing in his place. He also really needed to hear what Sam said to him, and he suspects that Sam also needs to be reminded of his own worth and importance from time to time.

Castiel is happy to be the one to do so.

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Bee— _

Sam slaps the alarm again with a groan, but still doesn’t remove the arm wrapped around his angel.

This time, Castiel doesn’t try to get up right away. Instead he turns himself around to face Sam, and gives him a soft kiss on his lips. He feels Sam smile in response before returning it.

It’s long and slow, but chaste—unless you count Sam’s hand sliding down to rest just above Castiel’s butt.

When Castiel finally pulls back, Sam is still smiling. “Good morning.”

“Yeah,  _ I’d _ say,” Sam huffs warmly. “How’m I supposed to go back to sleep now?”

“Don’t,” Castiel suggests with an innocent look. “Give me another kiss and then I’ll make you coffee before I go wake Lucifer up?”

The hunter sighs heavily, but he can’t say no to the look Cass is giving him.

Taking Castiel’s hand and intertwining their fingers again, he rolls them over so he’s laying on top of him before he kisses Castiel again. The angel’s lips are just  _ so soft _ . Sam can hardly believe all this is  _ his _ to enjoy whenever he wants.

Well. At least when no one’s watching. For now.

He hasn’t had this relationship with Cass for more than a couple days but already Sam is becoming addicted. He likes the way Castiel treats him, the way he cares about and understands him. He’s always liked those things about Castiel, but it seems like since they first kissed, it’s all been amped up to max.

And he likes the way Castiel kisses him: tentative every time like he’s worried Sam won’t want it. As if Sam would  _ ever _ turn Cass away.

Their kiss starts out slow, Sam initiating it this time. He lets Castiel set the pace however, not wanting to rush the—by comparison—inexperienced angel.

Castiel’s mouth is hot and inviting, and the sounds he makes when Sam finds the sensitive spot on the roof of it are even more so.

Sam’s other hand finds its way to Castiel’s hair and Castiel’s free hand finds a grip on the back of Sam’s sleep shirt. After a night of sleep in his arms, Castiel’s hair is an absolute mess. It’s a cute kind of messy, the way it was way back when they first met him.

When Sam thinks he’s given Castiel a thorough enough ‘good morning’ kiss he pulls back, smiling warmly at the affectionate look on  _ his  _ angel’s face. He really does look like an angel right now, his hair sticking up in every direction like a halo around his head and his electric blue eyes looking up at Sam with so much love and adoration it almost hurts.

It’s nearly impossible for him to roll back off of Cass, but Sam forces himself to anyways. They’ve probably already kept Lucifer waiting too long, honestly. And the way this is going… if Sam doesn’t stop now he doesn’t think he’ll be able to later. And Castiel probably isn’t ready for things to move that fast.

Hell,  _ Sam  _ isn’t ready for that yet. They’re still figuring all this out, he doesn’t want to rush something as special as his first time with Castiel in a moment of want and desperation after what happened yesterday.

Cass is too important to him for that. If they decide to take things that far, Sam wants to do it  _ right. _

His angel deserves that much, at least.

“Can I keep this shirt?” Castiel interrupts his thoughts, making Sam smile brightly at the question.

The seraph is standing now, stretching himself out while Sam stays flopped back on the bed. “Yeah, go ahead. It doesn’t fit me anymore anyways. There’s some matching grey sweatpants down in one of the drawers too if you don’t wanna change yet.”

Castiel nods, relieved that he didn’t have to ask. He’s so comfortable right now… but he kinda does need pants.

It doesn’t take him long to find what Sam’s talking about. They also fit pretty loosely on him, but they have a drawstring at the top so he’s able to tighten the waist enough that it’s no longer falling off of him.

Sam watches him adjust them with a small smile. “Next time we’re on a hunt together, I’ll get you some new clothes, okay?”

“ _ Please _ ,” Castiel responds with a bit of relief. “I mean—that would be very nice.”

His response gets a little snort from Sam as the hunter sits up finally. He wasn’t planning to get up this early… but now he doesn’t think he can sleep any longer. “Maybe we can drag Lucifer along with us, get him out of Dean’s clothes. I’m sure he’s also dying for some of his own.” He swings his legs off the bed, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m gonna take a shower first, I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“Alright,” Castiel gives him a smile and another quick kiss before he leaves the room to go start the coffeemaker first and then get to Lucifer’s room.

  
  


* * *

 

 

It’s 7:20 and his door is still locked.

Dean is usually here by 7 sharp… what’s taking him so long? Did something happen?

No, stop being so paranoid.

They had a long day yesterday, he probably just slept through his alarm. Or maybe he didn’t even set it, expecting Lucifer to want to sleep in too.

That’s not unreasonable but… the last thing Lucifer wants to do right now is sleep. He slept well enough in the car, but every time he closes his eyes now that he's alone… all he sees is Crowley. All he hears is Crowley’s voice, the things he said…

And there’s nothing to distract him. He has a phone, but even the bright and colourful puzzles of Candy Crush and Angry Birds can only occupy his mind for so long. Eventually the games become repetitive and leave him far too much space to  _ think. _

And that was  _ before _ the text.

**> Hello, Kitten. ;)**

He doesn’t know  _ how, _ or  _ when _ Crowley got his number… but he doesn’t have a single doubt as to the sender of that message.

His number is  _ 666 _ for crying out loud.

After that he gave up on trying to sleep or distract himself. Since then, he’s just been preparing. He’s drawn a devil’s trap under the dusty,  _ ancient _ rug; he has numerous blood runes hidden around the room, ready to be set off at a moment’s notice; he’s put warding against demons on his door, and then when he was finally satisfied with his handiwork, he hunkered himself down in the most defendable corner of the room—in the back of the room just behind the bed—and gripped his angel blade tightly.

And he waited.

The others may have thought he rushed back to his room because he was tired like he said or for whatever other reason, but he really rushed back in the hopes that they wouldn’t remember that they never took the blade back from him.

Sure, he packed away his gun and gave Sam the colt… but the blade stayed tucked up his jacket sleeve ever since he spoke to Ramiel. He even forgot it was there for a while, until he woke up with it digging into his arm hard enough to make him bleed a little.

It’s 7:22 when Lucifer hears the lock to his door jiggle, and his grip on the blade tightens. It’s probably Dean… he  _ hopes _ it’s just Dean…

The door creaks open tentatively, and  _ Castiel _ is the one who quietly enters the room. “Lucifer…?” He questions the empty bed, his eyes scanning the room again until he catches sight of his brother huddled up in the back corner.

With an angel blade in his white-knuckled grip.

Castiel’s concern only grows when he catches the scent of dried blood in the room. “Brother, are you alright?”

As he moves a little further into the room, Lucifer’s grip on the blade slackens, and he lowers the weapon to the ground. “I’m… okay. Good morning, Castiel.”

The seraph doesn’t quite believe him. Especially when he gets around the bed and can see Lucifer well enough to notice the visible rings under his eyes. “Did you get any sleep?”

The corner of Lucifer’s lips twitch down in a slight frown. “I slept plenty in the Impala.”

The concern doesn’t Leave Castiel’s face as he crouched down by his brother, his eyes flicking briefly to the blade now gripped loosely in his right hand. Lucifer clearly isn’t planning to do anything with it, so Castiel feels it’s safe enough to get close to him. His brother seems to be holding onto it more as a comfort than anything else.

“That was only a few hours, Lucifer. Have you been up all night?” The scent of blood is even stronger here by his brother, but that could just be explained by the cut on his left hand.

He shrugs, not meeting Castiel’s eyes.

When it’s clear that’s the only answer he is going to get, Castiel sighs softly and holds his hand out for the blade. “I’m sorry, but I need to take that back. I won’t tell the boys.” Thankfully, Lucifer doesn’t put up much of a fight. He doesn’t quite let go right away after placing it in Castiel’s hand, but he doesn’t try to pull it back either. “What were you doing with it, brother?”

When Lucifer doesn’t give him an answer, Castiel presses a little further. “Were you planning to use it against someone?”

At that question, Lucifer gives a somewhat derisive snort. “Don’t worry, Castiel.” And now he’s using that condescending tone that Castiel hasn’t heard in quite a while. “It wasn’t for any of you.”

“Who was it for, then?” Castiel asks him gently, very worried for his brother now. He believes Lucifer, so if he didn’t need the blade for one of them… then  _ who? _

He catches sight of a somewhat alarming, thin cut running a red line along the length of Lucifer’s left arm as Lucifer hugs his knees and turns his eyes to the ground. “No one…”

“Lucifer,” Castiel’s voice is strained. He has a theory, and he doesn’t like it one bit. He can’t help but keep looking at his left arm, hoping against hope that he’s wrong.

He doesn’t know how to ask what he needs to ask however, and he can visibly  _ see _ Lucifer pulling away from him already. Gently, he puts a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, changing his leg position so that he’s sitting cross-legged in front of his brother. “I… am not very good at talking, but if there’s anything you want to tell me, I do listen well.” He squeezes Lucifer’s shoulder, making him finally look back up. “Okay?”

The archangel meets his eyes, and for a second it looks like he’s going to say something, but then his gaze just drops again. “Thanks, Cass. But I don’t have anything to say.”

Castiel tries not to sigh in disappointment. “Maybe not right now, but I am always available, brother.” He pats Lucifer’s shoulder softly before standing up and offering Lucifer his hand to help him up. “All three of us are, if you ever need to talk. About  _ anything _ . Now, we never cleaned up your hand yesterday, come with me and have some breakfast after I patch it up?”

Lucifer takes his hand and gets up without complaint. He simply nods at Castiel’s assurances, and then frowns the tiniest bit when Castiel brings the cut on his hand up. “Sure, let me get changed first.”

Castiel nods, backing off a bit. “I’ll be outside.”

On his way out, Lucifer finally finds the nerve to ask a question of his own. “Where’s Dean?”

Castiel stops, facing his brother. “He was very tired after the drive yesterday, he told me he wanted to sleep in and asked me to get you up at seven. I’m sorry for my tardiness.”

Lucifer nods, looking a little relieved at the answer Castiel gave him. “Alright. I thought as much. It’s fine.” He gives his brother a curious look. “And… what’s with the new duds? You planning on going to college?”

Castiel feels the corners of his lips pull up as Lucifer starts to act a little more like himself. “I required more sleep as well last night. Sam let me borrow these. They are  _ very  _ comfortable. I would like a pair for myself.”

“Ah, they’re Sam’s,” Lucifer says like that explains a  _ lot _ . “I agree, you’ve inspired me to change into mine- now get out so I can change. Please.”

Castiel smiles, shaking his head as he leaves the room and shuts the door. Lucifer will be okay. Dean is definitely right about there being something eating at him though. He seemed tense, even while Castiel was leaving. He just got better at hiding it.

He doesn’t want to push… but they need to get to the bottom of this before Lucifer gets ahold of another sharp object and possibly does more than just hold onto it for a full night. The cut on his arm didn’t look deep but… Castiel is still worried for his brother.

Whatever this means, it certainly can’t be anything  _ good _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, I’m on a _roll_ with these chapters.
> 
> Aaaaand, the big villain of Resilience finally shows her face. Took her long enough, yeah? :’) we’ll see what kinds of trouble she can stir up now that she’s got fancy-schmancy archangel grace and maybe a friend?

**Author's Note:**

> For updates, join the **Lucifer Meets World** discord server by following this link - >  
>  <https://discord.gg/JmwqFMc>


End file.
